


Shadow of Despair

by Turk_and_JD, xlenaleex (Turk_and_JD)



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Attempted Sexual Assault, Despair, Epilepsy, Gen, Hospitalization, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Nightmares, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Team Dynamics, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark-centric, Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 70,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26184133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turk_and_JD/pseuds/Turk_and_JD, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turk_and_JD/pseuds/xlenaleex
Summary: What if despair had a name and liked to eat your nightmares for breakfast? The Avengers are out on a routine mission when despair comes calling, and it sets its sight on our favorite genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. As the team rallies to rescue their friend, they are brought face to face with the fact that they don’t really know Tony at all.
Comments: 148
Kudos: 259
Collections: Proof That Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony whump, hurt Tony





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking certain liberties with the timeline and stating that the Framework (SHIELD season 4) takes place before Civil War. This entire story takes place after the Framework (SPOILERS), after Avengers 2 and all three Iron Man movies, but before Civil War.
> 
> Disclaimer: Anything you recognize does NOT belong to me but to MARVEL, or excuse me, Disney and their appropriate franchises.

_"There's a new world comin', and it's just around the bend. There's a new world comin', this one's comin' to an end."  
\- Cass Elliot _

* * *

Iilk was _hungry_.

As one of the lesser Rake he didn't often have the opportunity for a meal.

 _Scraps_.

That's what was left for him by the time the others cleared out. That's why he was lurking in the shadows, watching the Elders split dimensions. It had taken him quite a while to learn that the key was timing. While the Elders did the work of opening dimensions he bided his time and energy. If he was fast enough there was a chance he could pass through the opening before the others could swarm it.

He'd probably only get a few good tastes before he was pulled away by a stronger, more aged Rake, but that was okay. Even just a few sips of the _good stuff_ would be able to keep Iilk energized enough to vie for a decent place in line instead of dead last.

As the rift grew longer he focused his attention on the tear, counting down the seconds until it showed the smallest opening, and then he dashed through the hole that was too small for the strongest Rake to fit in, but just wide enough for the starved Iilk to slip through. 

His success was short lived as he careened through a time lord who looked surprised and rather angry before doing something that began to reverse the rift Iilk had come through, much to the surprised and angry cries of his people on the other side. 

"Wong." The time lord hissed, his focus unable to split between the rogue Rake and closing the rift. 

"Got it." This Wong stated, hands moving ominacly. But Iilk didn't wait to find out what that meant for him. He hurled himself in the direction of away, hearing the startled yell of the gatekeepers behind him and refusing to look back and see how close they were to catching up to him. 

Slipping into shadows and spreading himself thin enough to dematerialize, he evaded them all, quickly navigating the in-between. Ahead was a doorway with another rift leading to a dim and desolate place. Iilk slipped silently through, using the cover of darkness to slink across the barren wasteland. 

And even through his dire predicament of being chased by a time lord and the fear of being caught, there was also a growing wonder, and even joy, at the realization that he now had an entire world, a veritable banquet of uncontested entrees at his fingertips. 

And Iilk was _hungry_. 

* * *

Tony Stark was starving.

He supposed working four days straight in the workshop would do that. His stomach growled again, echoing loudly within his suit. 

"Anything Stark?" came the Captain's inquiry like clockwork. 

"Beta quadrant clear." he said, doing one last scan, verifying that his report was still correct. "Moving on to Charlie." 

"Roger that." 

He'd only been 'retired' for a few months and already he had missed this. The feeling of teamwork and purpose as they all worked towards a specific goal. Sure, technically he was still inactive and not authorized or even encouraged to do anything but the aerial scans they needed but still, it was nice. 

"Hey guys, whaddya say we stop for a little curry after this?" he asked, circling back around the city towards the point of origin, where the disturbance was first logged on SHIELD's radar. "I'm feeling a bit peckish." 

"Stark." The Captain warned. 

"What? You don't like Indian?" 

"I could go for some naan bread," Bruce chimed in from the research truck where he was currently collecting data on the anomaly and using Stark's scans to better pinpoint the current location of the disturbance. Whatever this thing was, it was proving evasive to say the least. "I know this great little spot in Kolkata." 

"It's on." Tony agreed. "Gotta branch out sometime, Cap. You'll love it. Comes with a kick." 

"Guys," came the Captain's voice, strained with annoyance. It only made Tony smile. Sometimes America's greatest hero was too easy. 

"Mmmm," Stark hummed. "Just the thought of butter chicken is making my mouth water. Nat, Clint?" 

"Gonna have to pass on this one Stark." Clint chimed in. "Last time I had curry I shit fire for a week." 

Tony's mirth rang through the comms and was documented by the blip in altitude as he dropped a few inches. 

"Guys can we focus please," came the clipped tones of the Captain. "Natasha, what have you learned from the village. Any more victims?" 

"Negative. The three victims didn't have much in common. None of the individuals who've been affected have gotten worse in the last 24 hours, however there is one common denominator. All of the victims have been experiencing night _and_ day terrors." 

"Terrors? What, like nightmares?" Clint asked. 

"That mean anything to you, Banner?" The Captain redirected. 

"No, not yet, but I'll plug the data into the search matrix, see if I can find a pattern. If you could find out when and where the terrors started it would be helpful." 

"On it." 

The comms fell silent again as Tony began sweeping the next quadrant. His mind forgot his hunger as it strayed back to his current obsession, Peter Parker's suit. Originally there'd only been a few dozen web-shooting options that he'd planned to integrate into a suit for the spider kid he'd met a few weeks ago. It wasn't his fault that several hundred more options had come to him since then. He'd meant to at least cut them down, but then he wanted this suit to be the safest thing the kid ever wore, and everytime he eliminated one he would suddenly think of a scenario where only that option would save the kid's life. 

In the end he ended up incorporating all of them, which meant the original tech intended for the suit was insufficient. The sheer amount of options required the processing ability of higher level thinking. And so Tony had spent the last four days creating another AI. The kid would need assistance growing into the suit. Some tutorials perhaps. Maybe just a couple of training wheels to get him started. 

"FRIDAY, remind me to set up a training wheels protocol for the Spiderling." he instructed, eyes still scanning the incoming stream of data. Something was off in the topography he hadn't caught before. 

"You got it, boss." 

"And while you're at it enable the GPR will ya?" 

"On it." 

"Thanks darlin." 

Tony pulled to a stop as he read the data, turning to rescan the area around him. His lips spread into a smirk as the anomaly he'd sensed blipped across his screen. 

"Gotcha," he murmured. After pinpointing the most probable point of origin, he began to head towards it. 

"Stark. You want to tell me why you're breaking formation?" The Captain asked. 

"You bet your patriotic socks I do," he said happily. "Looks like our mystery guest might be utilizing the formidable facility underneath the city. Sending you the specs now, Brucey." 

He landed on the outskirts of the city, his metal suit standing firm on the hard sand. Precision lasers cut a perfect circle through the dirt, and he smiled when the sands began pouring down before the large chuck in the middle fell through a hole with a loud thump a moment later. 

"Knock, knock." 

"Stark! Hold position. Wait for backup." Captain America ordered. 

Tony thought about listening. He really did. But he was already taking the leap before the internal debate could finish. Landing several feet beneath the opening, he looked around at the dark path spreading before him. Taking a few steps in he did a quick scan that showed most of the walls to be made of concrete; different enough from the surrounding topography to be eye catching from above, but too thick for adequate scanning. 

"FRI, let's send out a few scouts shall we? Get a better look at the place." 

"Deploying now, sir." 

The quiet space was filled with the soft whir of machinery as thumb sized flying monitors detached from the suit and began moving down the hall, the four splitting into groups of two as the path diverged. Just another idea that had come to him when working on the kid's suit. Who knew it'd come in handy so quickly. 

"Stark!" came the angry call of their leader. 

"Yea yea, keep your tights on. I haven't gone any further than the entryway." 

"Tony, I see your position but my scans can't pick up how deep the structure goes." 

"No worries, Brucey. Just sent a few scouts out to light our way. Relaying the info now." 

A flash of light from one of the scouts drew his eye to the corner of the display in his helmet. _What was that?_ Scanning the visuals of his scouts, he was rewarded with another flash. Whatever it was, it was green and it moved _fast_. 

"FRIDAY can you track it?" 

"Attempted tracking in progress boss...Echolocation indicates the target is approaching at a rate of 80mph." 

"Shit," he cursed, stepping back. "Guys it looks like we have something." he warned the others raising his arms just as the green light rounded the corner and abruptly stopped. Tony blinked, trying to comprehend what he was seeing. Whatever it was it _moved_ like it was alive, but it seemed to be made out of energy, parts of it moving and almost seeming to dissipate. 

"Retreat Stark! We're almost there!" Came the Captain's cry. 

"Whoops! Wrong address." Tony spoke, taking another step back, three more and he'd be clear to fly. "If you'll just excuse me." 

The _thing_ made a noise then and shot towards Tony so fast he barely got his repulsors up. 

"Guess not!" he gritted as the sound of repulsors hitting decades old concrete ran through the tunnel, but it wasn't the threat of a small cave-in that worried Tony. It was the fact that his repulsors seemed to go straight through whatever the alien was, and he watched in horror as it surrounded the suit, probing, looking for a way _in_. 

Even as the green began to seep into his peripheral, the dual image of seeing it through the digital display as well as in front of him caused his stomach to drop. All he could think of was the team, of how underprepared they were to fight this thing. Conventional weapons couldn't stop it. They were walking into a trap. 

"Abort!" he managed to get out, gasping at the feel of the cool and pliant light pushing against his face, slithering up his nose. 

"Tony?!" That was Bruce. Bruce would know, he would understand that science was needed to defeat...whatever this was. There had to be a certain frequency, or some sort of ray that could trap this thing, grip it like his hands should have but couldn't. Against all instincts he opened his mouth, choking on the stuff but determined to warn someone, to let his team, his _friends_ know what they were up against. 

"Bruce! Bruce it's -" But that's all he got out before his entire world became a flash of bright green, and then all consuming black.  


* * *

Iilk was delighted as he hauled his new find back to the quiet little hidey hole he'd found under the buffet above him. He'd been careless at first, drinking too greedily and killing the host before he could finish enjoying the meal. He was smarter now, more careful. He drank slowly, only taking so much from each entree. After all, he didn't want the time lord to find him and make him hurt.

He was stronger now, too. Much stronger than he had been before. Strong enough to drag his prize back to his hiding place. No more sharing for Iilk. No more scraps. This one was all his, and it was so very full of bad memories. So much _despair_. 

He was going to enjoy every drop. 

* * *

"Stark!" Captain America called down the hole, shield at the ready. The lack of response was proof enough something had gone wrong, and he cursed Stark for his rashness.

"Banner? Can you give me anything?" 

"Tony never sent the data," came Bruce's quick reply, and Steve could hear the anxiety in the physicist's voice. The last thing they needed was for the Hulk to make an appearance. 

"Okay Banner, just stay calm. We're all here at the site. We'll go in and get him out. You stay put and-." 

His words were cut short as a black surveillance van screeched through the city gate a mile away and came booking it down the road. 

"Damnit Banner, turn back. That's an order." 

"I'm coming with you," came the heavy reply as the van got closer. Steve was powerless to do anything but watch as it came screeching to a halt, eyes hard as stone at another blatant defiance in the face of given orders. Clearly the doctor was spending too much time with Stark. 

Steve looked up at Natasha, knowing that she might be able to get through to the doctor where he couldn't. Her eyes narrowed at the unasked question but she spoke anyway. 

"Bruce-" 

"No," came his interrupted reply. The van was suddenly there, screeching to a halt and Bruce hopped out, batting the sand and dust away from his face as he approached. "He called for _me_. Whatever was down there, he thought I might be able to do something about it. Which means it's either powerful as hell, and you'll need the hulk, or it's something conventional weapons can't affect, which is where I come in. Either way, I'm going down there with you. Besides, I have this." 

Taking out his phone he pressed a button and held it up. 

"FRIDAY." 

"Yes Dr. Banner." 

"What?! You have FRIDAY on your phone?" Clint asked in disbelief. "How come I didn't get one of those?" 

"She's not on it… not really. It's only that this model is able to connect with FRIDAY when within a certain range. FRIDAY, is Tony okay?" 

"Boss is… alive." FRIDAY answered with uncharacteristic hesitation. "Adrenal levels are unusually high, but he's retained no physical injuries." 

"Is he conscious?" 

"No, but Boss isn't unconscious either. I think the best description would be to say that he appears to be… dreaming." 

"Don't." Natasha clipped, before Clint could make the joke. 

"Sorry." 

"FRIDAY can you lead us to him?" Steve asked, shifting on his feet, still unnerved at a phone or really any device that _talked_ to you. Though a phone talking to him was much more tolerable than a _house_. 

"Certainly. The scouts collected enough data to construct a map of the facility." 

"That's good. Send those specs to my phone." Bruce sighed in relief. "Actually, go ahead and send them over to SHIELD as well. Something this big underground, they probably want to know about." 

"Sending it now doctor." 

His phone chimed with the incoming data and Bruce opened it to see the map which showed them at the entrance to the tunnels and Tony's location as moving. 

"Whatever has him, it's _moving_ and _fast_." Bruce stated, stepping towards the hole. "If we don't want to lose him we need to go now." 

Steve sighed in annoyance. Bruce seemed determined to come, but all Steve could think about was the Hulk in those small 10x10 tunnels. He was supposed to be the _last_ resort. 

"Fine. But stay behind me. I'll take point. Natasha, cover our six. You see this thing, you take it out anyway you can. Let's go."  


* * *

Iilk had barely started eating when the presence of more minds pulled him away. They were close. Closer than they should have been. For a moment Iilk was afraid. Should he run? Should he fight? Was it the time lord come to banish him to more starvation?

He calmed himself and waited patiently as they drew ever closer. Finally, he decided it couldn't be the time lord. He'd be dead or gone already if it was. More food then? Food perhaps others wouldn't miss? They had come down to his hidey hole on their own accord afterall. 

Counting four of them, he tried to come up with a plan. He didn't want any to get away. It was best to keep them together, but he could only savor one at a time… 

Ah, he knew just the way. It was something Kart had shown him once, taunting Iilk with his abundance, never thinking Iilk would grow powerful enough to use it. He was almost sad Kart wouldn't be there to see it…. Almost. 

When they were close enough Iilk began to dissipate. He couldn't do it as fast now. Some of the Elders couldn't do it at all. Dissipating was for the weak, but Iilk had turned it into a strength. 

He watched as they slowly entered the room. First one, who seemed to check all around for Iilk, but never found him, and then two of the others who rushed to his prize on the table. Yet one remained by the door, a sentry. 

It was now or never. Swooping down he grabbed a hold of the first mind, delighted to find a formidable amount of despair before moving quickly to grab the others. The plan almost went awry when a feeling of an extra mind surprised him. He hadn't expected two entities in the usually singular species, except that it wasn't a completely separate entity, or maybe a mixture of two? Before, such thoughts would have slowed him down, but Iilk was quicker now and didn't hesitate to claim the extra load, whatever it was. He got them all in hand before the first body had hit the ground, holding the minds captive as their shells went limp. Already he felt heavy, molecules solidifying and dropping him back to the ground. 

Moving as quickly as he could he approached his prize and carefully, _carefully_ , laid the heaviness of the five minds into the first one. It was an exacting process, storing so many minds within the white space of another, but Iilk had been watching. It just required...focus. 

_There._

He looked around quickly at the four prone bodies to make sure no minds had slipped away; but no, the bodies were still and the minds were where he'd left them, all in one place. He nearly shimmered with glee. He wouldn't need to come out for weeks. Safe once again in the shadows of his new home, he began to eat once more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the prologue! I'd thank my beta but seeing as she's the one who begged, pleaded, prodded and generally forced- ahem, I mean coerced me to into writing this fic for her I'd say it's completion is thanks enough! Still, thank you kurarisusa for being my beta ^_^ Drop a review and let me know what you think. The story is completely written so updates to come!


	2. Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if despair had a name and liked to eat your nightmares for breakfast? The Avengers are out on a routine mission when despair comes calling, and it sets its sight on our favorite genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. As the team rallies to rescue their friend, they are brought face to face with the fact that they don’t really know Tony at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had originally planned to post every Friday, but my beta is on top of it and I'm too excited to wait until the weekend so here's the next chapter!

_"Smile, though your heart is aching. Smile, even though it's breaking. When there are clouds in the sky you'll get by, if you just smile."  
\- Nat King Cole, covered by Michael Jackson_  


* * *

"Over here junior!"

"Give us one for the camera!"

"Smile Tony!"

Another flash joined the cacophony. Despite the sheer amount of reporters and the claustrophobic environment they created, he walked slowly, confidently, as if he didn't have a care in the world. He waited until he was at the door before turning around and giving the press what they screamed for. Then he ducked into the lobby and into the memory of the first time someone had told him to smile.

"Smile, Tony."

It's not a request. It's an order. Howard never made requests.

The first time he'd said the words Tony was four. He'd wandered into his father's workshop and knocked over a trinket after bumping into a table. His father had grabbed his little arm and squeezed so hard it brought tears to his eyes.

He'd tried to wiggle away, but the more he struggled the tighter the grip got until he was whimpering with hurt and fear.

"Tonyyy?" His mother's call and soft footsteps saved him. As they approached, his father's hand relaxed, and he roughly wiped Tony's tears away.

"Smile Tony."

Tony hadn't wanted to smile. His arm hurt and he was confused, but his father's face still looked scary and his mother was always upset when he made that face. So Tony smiled, his little lips wobbly, eyes blinking rapidly as he tried to stop the tears.

"Good boy."

"There you are Tony!" his mother said coming to him with a smile. "How did you get in here, hmm? Sorry love, he got away from me while I was getting dressed. Are you okay baby?"

"He's fine," his father had said. "Aren't you Tony? Why don't you tell your mom how well that dress matches her eyes."

Tony was still hurting though, and he couldn't hold back the tears that spilled down his face.

"You have pretty eyes mamma," he managed to get out, and his mother's eyes, that were in fact very pretty, widened, arms opening as she leaned down to swoop him up.

"What in the world is the matter sweetie?" she crooned, rocking back and forth and he buried his face into her neck where he didn't have to see the scary look on his father's face.

* * *

A year later his father had given the same command.

"Smile, Tony."

This time the room was filled with strangers. A large group of men and women, suits and notebooks and flashing cameras.

"But I'm tired. I want to go home," Tony whispered, eyes drooping and body ready for Jarvis to tuck in. It was very much past his bedtime, and his initial excitement had dwindled into fatigue at the game he'd had to play all night. He called it "race to the right answer."

"What you want doesn't matter," his father had clipped quietly, and Tony quickly closed his mouth, lips turning up in a shaky smirk. He'd lost that round.

Tony had turned five a few weeks ago, but his father hadn't been impressed with that. He'd been more impressed with the model robot Tony had made. It was because of the robot and how he'd made it better, that they were here now, at another big building with lots of people who liked to ask him lots of questions. Unfortunately, it became clear after the first interview that his father was not pleased with his responses.

"Tony?! What made you think of modifying a simple toy robot model? Was your father your inspiration?"

"No. I just thought it was cool."

That answer got him a solid couple of shakes and another round of bruises on his upper arm in the shape of his father's finger. At least Tony knew better not to cry out. He hadn't even broken the skin this time.

"Tony? How's it feel to be the son of the greatest engineer to ever walk the Earth?"

Tony was a fast learner. He hadn't said what had immediately popped into his head, which was a shrug of indifference because it was all he knew, how else would he feel? Instead he'd looked to his father with nervous eyes.

"Good," he'd said, deciding that one word answers were the safest bet, but the frown on his father's face let him know it wasn't acceptable. "Honored," he started again, saying the word slowly. He'd only just learned how to say it right from Jarvis the previous day. He hoped it would lessen the pain that would surely follow his mishap.

"Of course you would be," the man stated before another woman piped up.

"Do you think it'll be hard to live up to the infamous Stark legacy?"

He'd had no idea how to answer that question. Was he living up to his father? What did it even mean to live up to someone? Was it to be as smart as them? Or as great as them? Or to make them proud or happy? How did one go about doing that, and what was used to measure progress?

The questions were moot, however, because one look at his father made it clear that none of these things would ever happen. A former command from his father suddenly echoed through his mind, and he beamed at the woman showing all of his teeth, even the missing incisor that had fallen out last night.

"You have pretty eyes," he stated, relieved when the group began to chuckle, calling him a regular playboy. He didn't know what that meant, but he did know that his response was correct when his father's eye moved on, passing along the room as if he wasn't there.

After all, this party wasn't really for Tony. What he wanted didn't matter.

* * *

"Tony please!" his mother pleaded with him as he stood defiantly in his bright red, white and blue hero underwear, resolutely refusing to dress in the suit on the bed that his mother was imploring him to don.

"No. I'm not going," he said firmly, determined in his decision to stay. Three months ago Jarvis had introduced Tony to his nephew who had leukemia. The cancer was in remission though, and he was out of the hospital for the first time in years. Thomas and Tony had a lot in common. They weren't the same age because Tony was only six and Thomas was nine, but they were both small and roughly the same size, and more importantly they both liked computers and coding. Long hours spent in the hospital with nothing to do had made Thomas nearly as good as the Stark prodigy.

They'd had several sleep-overs in the ensuing weeks, always planned for when his father was away on an overnight business trip. Tony and his mother had woken up early to make a whole counter full of cookies of all kinds, which Thomas loved, and Tony was excited to spend more time with his very first friend, as they hadn't seen each other in nearly two weeks.

Then his father, who was supposed to be away in Berlin until late tomorrow night, had come home early, demanding that they attend an impromptu gathering of his fellow colleagues. Tony didn't understand why they had to cancel plans made weeks in advance because his father wanted to go to another party.

"Tony, baby listen. We can reschedule, okay? Let's not bring it up anymore; it'll only make you more upset. Come let's put this on—"

"No!" Tony said, raising his voice now. "You promised!"

"Baby please—."

"Why aren't you ready yet?" came the clipped voice of his father, and his mother turned, blocking Tony from view as she quickly approached Howard.

"I'm sorry sweetheart. We'll be ready soon, it's just that—."

Tony, couldn't hear the rest of their conversation as his mother's voice lowered to a whisper, pulling his father to the side. He didn't know what they were saying, but he _wasn't_ going. He didn't care if his father was mad and gave him the scary look or grabbed him tight around an arm that was only just healing from the latest bruise, leaving a near permanent discolored cuff around his bicep.

It was only because of his angry resolve that he caught what happened next. He was glaring at his parents, arms crossed over his chest when he saw his father's hand reach up and wrap around his mother's arm in the exact spot he often grabbed Tony. He saw the brief wince of pain on his mother's face, and her quick glance his way, a reassuring smile flashing for him before she turned back to Howard.

It felt like jumping into a frigid lake.

Suddenly, all the heat of his anger evaporated. Something sharp and cold replaced it, fear and worry, and yes anger, too, all wrapped up into a big ball that sat firmly in his stomach as he watched his father yell at his mother, while gesturing angrily to Tony. They were fighting about him. His mother had been hurt because he'd refused to go to the party.

"I'll go!" he shouted, dashing to the bed and pulling on the tailor made slacks. "I'm getting dressed see? I didn't wanna have the stupid sleepover anyway," he mumbled pulling on the undershirt before shrugging on the button up, relieved when his father released her.

"See," his father said to his mother, pointing toward Tony before tucking a stray hair behind her ear. "Problem solved. We're leaving in five."

He strolled out of the room and Tony kept glancing at his mother as he pulled on the socks and shoes before messing with the tie, blinking hard to try and keep the tears out of his eyes as she slowly approached him.

Kneeling down she grabbed his hands, and again he noticed that hers seemed to shrink everyday, even as his grew. When he looked up he was surprised to find her own eyes full of tears and that horrible feeling in his stomach presented itself again.

"I'm sorry, Tony," she whispered. "We'll reschedule it okay? Soon. Besides what are we going to do with all of those cookies otherwise?"

He tried to smile then, but his lips trembled and refused to do it right. The frustration clawed at him from the inside. He really had wanted to see Thomas tonight. Instead, he would have to walk around and talk to stupid politicians who asked questions they couldn't even follow the answers to, all while carefully navigating the minefield of his father's nods of acceptance or glares of disapproval. And now he knew he wouldn't be the only one to suffer if he failed at it. It wasn't fair. To him or to her.

His mother's gentle finger under his chin brought his eyes back up to hers, and he watched in mortification as a tear slipped down the side of her own face in seeming defiance of the bright smile she was aiming at him.

"Smile Tony," she whispered. "It's my favorite thing to see, everything's better when you smile." She waited for him to acquiesce, but Tony was too shocked at her declaration to respond. He watched her sigh sadly, firmly re-fixing her own smile before kissing his cheek rising quickly, no doubt heading to fix her makeup.

Tony understood three things in that moment. The first was that he was not alone in regards to his father's occasional violent handling; he didn't know why he'd thought it was only him to begin with. The second was that the tears in his mother's eyes were unacceptable, and he would do whatever it took to keep from seeing them again.

Most importantly, however, he finally understood the purpose and value of a quick smile.

* * *

"What? What the-... What?!" Clint's confused utterings were the first thing Steve Rogers heard. It would have been reassuring except for the fact that he was still trying to get over the first thing he'd seen once he'd exited the vision? Memory? Dream?

Whatever it was it was gone now and they were left with this unnerving white _nothing_. The emptiness of it distracted him momentarily as he tried to get a feel for the room's dimensions and any other notable features, but the space didn't seem to have an end, and his mind kept tripping over the fact that there was no door, no walls, no sky, even the surface he was standing on didn't break the monochromatic monotony.

"This… is not good."

Banner's obvious observation finally drew Steve's eyes back to his original purpose, which was accounting for his team.

"Status report," he clipped even as he took in the rest of the group.

"Got all my parts but really, _really_ confused," Clint mumbled to his left. He could see the archer kneeling on the ground, one hand still raised to the arrows in his quiver while he glanced repeatedly around the space.

"I'm… I'm okay. I think." The doctor stumbled up to his feet while rubbing his head. While he said that, Steve was aware that he was looking noticeably _green_.

"Banner?" Steve asked warily. _This_ was why he didn't want the man down here.

"I'm fine. For now," he tried to reassure Steve. It didn't really make Steve feel any better, but he forced himself to believe the statement was true and turned to face Natasha.

She looked the most composed of the three by far, eyes critically finishing her scan before they landed on him.

"I'm fine. Did anyone see what happened? There was nothing on our six. I assume there was a hostile in the room," she stated, fingering the small pistol in her hand as her eyes left his to scan the space again. It looked like he wasn't the only one feeling a little twitchy about their surroundings.

"No. Er...possibly," Steve answered a little sheepishly. He'd been the first in the room. He'd cleared it, he knew he had… or… he thought he had. Doubt settled in his stomach as the situation seemed to clearly indicate that he'd missed something and was the reason his team was now… well… wherever they were.

"Did anyone else see anything?" he asked, bracing for any news that he in fact _had_ missed something.

"Uh yea?!" Clint chimed in finally getting to his feet. "How about the slew of memories from a kid Tony? Tell me that wasn't just me?"

"You saw them too?" Bruce asked in surprise. "I thought… hoped maybe that was just me. I was touching Tony right before we were.. uh... transferred here."

"I also saw them," Steve admitted, a different feeling sinking into his gut. The Howard he'd been shown wasn't the one he remembered. He would never hurt a kid like that, especially not his own son. "Romanov?"

She nodded her response, eyes severe and hands still gripped tightly on the gun. Right. Well whatever happened they needed to find a way out and back to Tony as soon as possible. Only, the juxtaposition of infinite depth _and_ the lack thereof was beginning to make him nauseous.

"Banner?" he said on a deep exhale, feeling decidedly harassed. "You said this wasn't good. Sounds like you have a theory about what's going on?"

"Well… I have a couple theories. Neither of them are good."

"If it gets us out of here then it really doesn't matter, doctor. Let's hear them."

"Okay. Well, it seems like no one saw anything before we were...transported(?) here, so whatever happened must have been nearly instantaneous. Perhaps a gas or some type of sonic weapon is my best guess. I've no idea where our bodies are, they could be anywhere really—."

"Whoa wait. Excuse me? Bodies? You're saying these _aren't_ our bodies?" Clint asked with a bit of panic and a lot of patting.

"No, of course not." Banner explained. "This is too undefined an area. It's very clearly a simulated environment. Which indicates we could be in some sort of computer program or device in which each consciousness is collected and dumped into the same simulation. Or at least, that's the more likely of my theories."

"And the more unlikely?" Steve prompted.

"In a word? Aliens."

"Ah shit," Clint cursed. And while Steve didn't necessarily appreciate the explicative he did happen to agree with the sentiment.

"If this is a simulation we're in then where's Tony?" Romanov asked, seemingly unfazed by Banner's assessment of their situation, though in truth she was trying very, _very_ hard not to think about the SHIELD reports she'd read about the Framework.

"That's the not good part I was talking about earlier," he sighed. "Tony was the first one taken by, uh, the thing. He should be here. I'd say we were just in a different simulation but the fact that we've seen his memories indicates he may be closer than we think; his mind at any rate, his body could be anywhere."

"What makes you think the memories were real?" Steve asked, still unwilling to believe that had been a true depiction of Stark's past.

"Because Thomas is real, or was real. Tony told me about him one day when I came down to force him to bed after being MIA for a week. I thought maybe he was a bit delusional at that point, but I got curious and looked him up. The kid existed, and the memory is roughly the same as the one that was shared with me."

The increasingly unsettled feeling pooling in Steve's gut drove him to distraction. He couldn't deal with this right now.

"So how do we get out of here Banner? Is there a way to break out of the program?"

"Not without more information," the physicist sighed. "And that's assuming that this even _is_ a program. It's not like we can just shoot our way out of here. But that's not what's really bothering me. SHIELD knows of our mission and our last known location. They'll be coming for us when we don't check in. What we should be worried about is what the data Stark collated indicated."

Steve racked his brain for what Banner could mean. He knew that they were under the city. Whatever it was seemed to be invisible and left no trace but a few dead bodies and—

"Nightmares," he concluded. Bruce had been researching the strange increase of terrors. "You're saying whatever caused this also caused the nightmares in the other victims?"

"Think about it." Banner nodded gravely. "I barely had a chance to solidify a pattern to track the thing, but that one symptom held true for each victim. They experienced severe sleep and waking terrors for several days before they died. I know the memories we just saw weren't horror movie level, but they weren't a sunny field of roses either."

"You think it's working its way up," Clint clipped, a frown beginning to form as they all realized the implications if that were true.

"It's possible." Bruce confirmed. "What do you think will happen once they get too severe for him to handle?"

"He'll die." Steve answered grimly, mind kicking into high gear and coming up with _nothing_ for how to get them out this _mind_ prison.

"And then we're next."

Romanov's quiet addendum made everyone's veins run a little colder, but it solidified the next step they needed to take.

"We need to find Tony. Now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk how alerts work on ao3 or if that's even an option, but if you got several of them for this chapter I apologize. I'm new to this platform and still figuring out how to do the things. Next chapter on Friday!


	3. Missing You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if despair had a name and liked to eat your nightmares for breakfast? The Avengers are out on a routine mission when despair comes calling, and it sets its sight on our favorite genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. As the team rallies to rescue their friend, they are brought face to face with the fact that they don’t really know Tony at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene below is based off of the comic and therefore has some of the dialogue littered throughout. Dialogue is noted by **_bold italics_** and is NOT mine. Of course neither are the characters… so there’s that too.

_  
"And all I lov'd, I lov'd alone."  
\- Edgar Allen Poe_

* * *

The car sailed around the bend at a respectable speed of 22 mph and nearly disappeared before the boy chasing it rounded the corner in pursuit. Tony was out of breath but grinning wildly as he slowed the car enough for him to catch up. It was even faster than he'd hoped. Sure he'd bought it packaged, but after completely disassembling the mock vehicle he'd promptly reassembled it with his own design, one that quite apparently increased the speed. Or perhaps _doubled_ the speed would be more accurate. So far he'd clocked it at a delightful 40 mph. He'd need a longer track than the driveway to do further testing. Regardless, the results were conclusive.

It was the fastest RC currently _not_ on the market.

After he had enough fun with it maybe he'd give the design to the current developers. Right at the moment, though, he was enjoying his weekend home way too much. Deciding to test how tight the turns could get on the upgraded all-wheel drive, he maneuvered the car into the library. It'd barely made it past the entry when he heard a crash and subsequent yell.

Sprinting the last few steps he rounded the corner, but it was too late. His father had the prototype in his hand, and Tony could tell by the empty glass on the window seal behind his father that he'd been drinking.

For a brief moment, he was relieved to see the empty glass, remembering the time he was five and had snuck into his father's study late at night, hoping for a hug because he'd been gone for so long this time, and Tony was too anxious to wait for the morning like his mother wanted.

The glass had been full then, and his father's speech had been slow and stuttery. He'd asked Tony if he'd wanted to drink what daddy was drinking, and Tony had said yes because he always wanted to be like his dad. But the amber liquid inside had been bitter and sharp, and so hot it _burned_ , and he had decided that maybe he didn't want to drink it after all. But his dad hadn't taken no for an answer, not after Tony had agreed. His father had held him tight—one hand on the glass, one fisted punishingly in his hair—and forced him to drink the whole thing.

By the time it was over, his throat was burning and his stomach had begun twisting in knots. He'd been sick for a long, long time afterward, and his mother had been upset. Yet despite the pain, Tony had felt accomplished because he'd done it. He'd finished it. And the brief look of approval he'd received as Howard released him and set the empty glass back on the table, the harsh slap on the back, the brief exaltation. _"That's my boy!"_ It was a moment that proved it wasn't impossible. If he just tried hard enough, he could win Howard's favor.

That was years ago though, and he'd learned since then not to sneak into the study late at night, no matter how empty the glass. But it wasn't late at night, and it wasn't his father's study and Tony could only prepare for so much. The way his father snatched the car from the ground alerted him to the fatality of his error.

" ** _This is_ yours _I take it?! This is how you spend your weekend home?_** "

Tony wracked his brain, searching for something that he had forgotten he was supposed to be doing. It happened often enough, but Jarvis hadn't said anything…

" ** _D-Dad, I…_** " he stuttered, trying to figure out what he'd done wrong this time.

" ** _Waste of time!_** " His father yelled, snatching the remote out of his hand and sending it crashing into the wall behind him. Tony watched in dismay as the casing cracked and tumbled to the floor. " ** _I don't need to deal with this nonsense! Do you understand me?!_** "

He saw the hand rearing back and threw up his hands in defense, but the force of the blow still knocked him to his knees. Tony didn't wait to hear more. Lurching to his feet he took off as fast as he could, leaving the car and broken remote in the room with his father.

In the near future he was going to pay for that bit of cowardice, Stark men didn't run from their problems. But it was as if the slap had been a trigger, and Tony had been horrified to feel tears coming and crying in front of his father was a _much_ worse offense.

The chair scraped back as Tony collapsed in it, bringing his feet up to rest his chin on his knees. He was angry. Not about his controller, or even that the first thing his father had done after being gone for six months was to slap him and call him a waste of time. No, Tony was mad at _himself_. He was livid about the tears streaming down his face.

It didn't make sense. It's not like he was surprised by his father's behavior, and besides, it wasn't like his father was wrong. He hadn't even built the car for a project. It had just been something fun because Tony liked engines and the shiny aluminum wrapped around them. Even though the deadline was months from now, he probably should have been working on the next project that his father had given him a week ago. Relatively speaking it had been a mild encounter.

So why couldn't he stop crying?

**_I wanna go back to school_** he realized with frustration. He wasn't such a disappointment there. He could do something right for once. **_I wanna go back to school_**. Although he enjoyed the time spent with his mother, she called him at least once a week, so it hardly felt as if he was away sometimes. Plus he had friends at the academy...well…sort of friends. **_I wanna go back to school_**. He didn't want to be around his father, which apparently worked out well because his dad didn't want to be around him either, never 'had the time'.

So why did the tears come faster at that thought?

" ** _Master Tony? Do not take the outburst to heart._** "

Jarvis. Someone he actually missed. Someone who had smiled at him and hugged him when he nearly barreled the older man over in excitement about the rare trip home. Jarvis was someone who Tony knew cared about him.

" ** _Leave me alone, Jarvis._** "

Tony almost called him back. Almost told him the real reason he was sitting on the porch, crying like some baby. But he waited too long and the retreating footsteps left him alone in the cool summer breeze and the setting sun.

In the quiet, he had no one to distract him from the unfortunate truth and continued futility of deeply missing the one person who didn't, would never, miss him.

* * *

Steve blinked at the rough transition back into the white void, unsure of how long the memory had been and even a little hazy on what they'd been discussing before he'd been pulled in. Though part of that inability to recall could have been the sizable distraction of the image of Howard decking a young Tony.

A part of him was steeped in denial. If he tried, he could understand Howard's actions to an extent. As the best and brightest of his time, the man had a lot on his plate. It was understandable that some days he needed to blow off some steam, and it wasn't uncommon for an old man to give a lick or two to his boy when stress was high. He probably hadn't hit Tony that hard. Most likely Tony had been overreacting. He knew Howard. The man was brilliant, admirable. He wasn't a monster. But the livid bruises on Tony's arms and that young, terrified face echoed in his memory like an accusation.

"Well. Good to know that doesn't get any less disconcerting," Clint murmured, trying to shake off the distress he'd felt at watching his friend get nailed in the face by his dad. Tony didn't have a big brother to help divert the blows, physical and psychological. "Who knew the real Jarvis was so tall… and dashing! Didn't he seem dashing to you?"

"That was his voice, too," Bruce agreed, taking the offered distraction as he redirected his anger into the awe he always felt at Tony's sheer brilliance. "Tony must have used a recording of Jarvis' voice before his death as the facsimile for the subsequent program."

Steve followed suit and grasped onto their tangent as a chance to restore his own shaken psyche.

"English butlers aside, we need a plan," Steve declared. And after his quick reasoning, shaking off this memory was considerably easier than the previous time.

"Right," Bruce agreed. "Any ideas?"

Well, damn. That was Steve's line. He looked around at the endless white space and then quickly averted his focus before he could become nauseous.

"Romanov?" he asked, the next likely candidate for a good idea. She stood quietly for a moment deciding whether the information she had would be relevant to their current situation.

"There was an incident a year ago. A SHIELD scientist created a program called the Framework. Through convoluted circumstances several key members became trapped inside."

Steve furrowed a brow. He vaguely remembered reading something like this, but he couldn't recall how the report had ended.

"How did they get out?" he asked.

"A backdoor."

"Makes sense." Bruce nodded, rubbing his chin. "It's a natural safeguard. We'd need to know the coordinates though." The dubious glance at their prison of white didn't go unnoticed. "That's assuming this is a program. If so it only seems to _run_ when we're viewing Tony's memories. This… _nothingness_ almost seems more like a holding zone."

Natasha nodded her agreement. It bothered her that she'd woken up in this dream world with no recollection of how she'd gotten there. Even when she'd been kidnapped and drugged, there was always that 1-3 second lag from conscious to unconscious. She trusted her senses. No drug alive worked that fast. A hard enough blow to the head might do it, but that would require an assailant, of which there'd been none; _that they could see_ , she reminded herself.

Of course that led into further doubt, because if she was in a program like the Framework, then they could make her believe whatever they wanted. She could live an entirely different life and be none the wiser. Perhaps, everything she remembered of her life until now was the dream, and she was finally awake. Thoughts like that weren't helpful though, as there was shit she could do about it even if it were true, so instead of the what-ifs about what they didn't know, she focused on the formerly unquestionable premise of what they did know. She ran through all the information she had and came to the same conclusion no matter if they were in a program or in the clutches of some alien.

It all came down to Tony.

"Tony knew something," she murmured looking up at Bruce. "You said it yourself. He called for _you_ Bruce. Specifically, for you."

Tony was unparalleled in the technology department, and while Bruce was formidable in his own field he couldn't call himself a guru at technology. If they were in a program it would have made more sense for Tony to warn herself. She knew her talents and, while nowhere near Stark's level, she was still a formidable programmer. He hadn't warned her though, he'd warned Bruce... who's specialty was biochemistry.

"I think it's alien," she stated matter of fact.

"You want to explain how you jumped to that conclusion?" Steve asked, confused at her confident assessment, but a little relieved to have a potential starting point.

"Well besides the fact that he reached out to the only biochemist on the team, we were right behind him," she explained, eyes focused and intent. "32 seconds away actually, and yet we traveled nearly two miles before we found him. Nothing moves that fast. Nothing human. I think that room was its destination. I only got a glimpse, but it was clear Tony wasn't thrown to the side but placed deliberately on the table."

"You think we're still there." Bruce finished, brow furrowed again as he followed her logic. "JARVIS said Tony was alive and unconscious, but not asleep."

"Dreaming." Clint pitched in.

"A shared dream?" Steve questioned glossing over the protest his brain wanted to make at that statement. After the battle of New York nothing should truly surprise him anymore. Didn't stop him from being surprised though.

"Possibly," Bruce murmured with a furrowed brow. "But then… Tony should be here, with us. I don't understand why he's not."

He looked around then, the others automatically searching as well, ignoring the sharp feeling of _wrongness_.

"HEY TONYYY! WHERE ARE YOUUU?!"

The shout startled everyone. Bruce and Steve literally jumped and, while she'd deny it until her last breath, Natasha's fingers had twitched ever so slightly. All three turned to Clint with incredulous eyes.

"What?" he shrugged. "It was worth a try. Maybe he's just a white abyss over?"

"Maybe." Bruce suggested, tamping down on the urge to hit the man. "We should split up and see if there's anything beyond this," he said with a vague gesture to their surroundings.

"No." Steve shook his head. "There's no point of reference. Sure we could walk opposites until we could only _just_ see each other but then we'd have to turn back. At best, one of us finds a door or some point of reference. At worst we lose all sense of direction and become further lost. No. Whatever we do, we do it together."

Bruce nodded and looked back at Clint. With his talent there was no one on the team with a better sense of spatial awareness.

"Which way?"


	4. And it Came to me Then

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if despair had a name and liked to eat your nightmares for breakfast? The Avengers are out on a routine mission when despair comes calling, and it sets its sight on our favorite genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. As the team rallies to rescue their friend, they are brought face to face with the fact that they don’t really know Tony at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The long awaited next chapter! As promised, here's more of Howard's A+ parenting.

_"I found the reason for me, to change who I used to be, a reason to start over new, and the reason is you."  
\- Hoobastank_

* * *

Pain.

Pain like he'd never known before. It was worse than the time he fell down the steps and broke his arm. That had been _really_ painful. He'd thought he might even die then.

This was _worse_.

Every breath was a struggle, knives slicing through his chest instead of oxygen. He'd been ready for the pain. Or at least, he thought he had. He was used to the feeling of broken bones and debilitating bruises by now. He _wasn't_ prepared for the monumental feat it was just to keep breathing, or whatever it was he was attempting, because truthfully there wasn't much air intake going on at the moment.

Another firm kick to the side made him lose the little bit of breath he'd managed to gain, and he instinctively curled up even further, legs folding to come up and over his arms, shoulder and chest. The position didn't make it any easier to breathe, but it did lessen the agony of the subsequent kick.

Tony was already 8 years old, so he really should have known better than to stay in his dad's workshop at night by now. In fact, he _did_ know better. It's just that, he'd needed the welder for an upgrade on his newest project, and after waking up with the idea bouncing around his brain he couldn't get back to sleep. He'd only been planning to work for a little while, an hour tops. He was alerted to the passing of time when his father arrived in the room, stumbling and mumbling curses to himself as more scotch spilled from the glass to drip on his shirt and the floor.

Startled, Tony froze, eyes flicking quickly to the wall and closing briefly in dismay at the time, _3:30 am_. For half a second he contemplated the likelihood of quietly escaping the situation, but such hopes were quickly crushed when his father snapped his head up as if he could smell Tony's apprehension.

"Tony?" Howard asked in confusion, eyes squinting to better focus. "Tony," he repeated, but this time it was a tone much darker than confusion. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Tony didn't know what to do. He was afraid to answer. His father was often angry and unpredictable, but such reactions were exponentially heightened when he'd been drinking. It was safe to say that no matter how Tony answered there was going to be consequences.

"Well!" His father's shout alerted him that his time to decide was up. "I asked you a damn question!"

"I was just- just working on a project," he stumbled out. Remembering that he was currently holding some very dangerous tools in his hands, Tony quickly put them away and stepped back from the machine, just to be safe.

"Not here you idiot! _Here_! In my house! Why're you not at school?"

Tony's eyes widened in surprise. School was out for break. He'd been home for two days. His dad had only just returned from yet another trip to locate Captain America the day before, only to turn around and head out to yet another charity ball. He'd even told Tony to behave before leaving. Could alcohol make someone forget? Or was he so insignificant his father had forgotten him without the aid of liquor? A cold feeling settled in his stomach as he made an educated guess that it was probably the latter.

"I'm on break dad. Remember? I got home two days ago."

"Of course I remember!" his father yelled. "I'm Howard fucking Stark." Chuckling at that he threw the rest of his glass back, losing a portion of it to his chin and already damp shirt. Tony took the opportunity to make another step closer to the door, but of course his dad saw it.

"That's right. Get out!" he yelled, suddenly furious and storming towards Tony. "Just get the hell out! LEAVE!"

Tony scrambled back, bumping his hip harshly against the desk in his hurry to comply. He might have made it too, if the picture settled precariously close to the edge hadn't chosen that moment to topple over and crash to the floor.

The silence was so loud in hurt, weighing Tony down until he thought he might collapse. Though the frame had fallen face down he knew whose picture it was. How could he not? He'd studied, and been made to study, the man within. The greatest hero of all time, and his father's one time best friend. Tony knew his dad wanted him to be like the hero, but he always seemed to fall short, and now he'd just broken one of the only pictures his father had of the great Captain America.

The silence was finally broken by Tony's mounting horror and dire need to correct his mistake _immediately_.

"I'm sorry!" he said, choking on his fear and dashing towards the mess, carefully picking up the frame so as not to cut the picture within on the glass now littering the floor. He set it gently back on the desk and tentatively looked up to his father.

"I didn't mean to," he whispered, more scared of his father's silence than he would be if his father was yelling.

"Of course you didn't," his father supplied and Tony's chest filled slightly with hope that maybe this would be one of the better interactions with his dad.

"You never do," his father continued, "And yet you continue to be a fuckup."

Tony didn't have anything to say to that. He knew that already, that he was a fuckup. His eyes flicked to the near finished project on the worktable beside him. He'd been looking forward to showing his dad the improvements and suddenly realized how stupid it was. He should have been working on something new instead; something better. He eyed the picture with a frown, almost wishing some of the glass _had_ cut it, so it would be just as imperfect as he was.

"You did it on purpose didn't you," Howard hissed and Tony quickly turned to see his father watching him with a narrow gaze that did nothing to hide the fury bursting at the seams.

"N-no!" he stammered trying to take a step back, but Howard was faster and before he could flee his arm was in a familiar grip, one he couldn't get away from.

"It was an accident!" he protested trying to pull away.

"Liar! You're always trying to ruin the good things in my life!"

Tony was ready for the punch. He'd seen it coming. He _wasn't_ ready for the amount of force behind it. Or the next few that followed in quick succession. With dawning horror it suddenly occurred to him that his father had been _holding back_ his entire life.

Howard was still screaming at him, but with the slur of alcohol Tony couldn't make out the words. All he could really feel were the blows. The reverberating crack! of his skull as it hit the table. The groan in his shoulder as his father used it to yank him upward, before punching him back toward the ground. The bruising thuds as his back slammed against the bottom of the desk with each subsequent kick. Somewhere more glass was breaking.

Unable to run now, Tony tried to curl into a ball and wait out his father's anger by doing what he always did. He counted. No matter how angry his father got, the blows usually stopped coming by the time he made it to thirty. However, this time even after he reached thirty he felt a blow connect with his thigh and lost count for just a moment. It didn't take him long to get back on track though. He was good at numbers.

He counted a long time.

* * *

When the blows finally stopped coming, Tony almost didn't notice. He realized at 90 seconds that the hits weren't going to stop. At 120 seconds a particularly hard kick stole all his breath. When he still couldn't breath at 180 seconds he realized he was going to die. He thought that maybe he should feel upset about that. Mother was very upset when her sister died two years ago, and though Jarvis never let on, Tony could tell that he had been upset about Thomas dying, too. He understood that it was normal to be upset about death.

Tony didn't feel upset though. In fact, he thought maybe it would be better this way. The truth was, Tony was tired. Tired of being afraid. Tired of the pain. Tired of trying and trying and always managing to screw it all up, anyway. Maybe if he wasn't here, he couldn't be such a let down. That would be nice. Maybe now, it would finally all be over. Reeling in relief at the thought, he never noticed when his father finally grew tired and stumbled from the room. He didn't notice much of anything except for the growing ache in his chest, the black haze that darkened his vision, and the calm acceptance of its embrace.

* * *

"I'm calling an ambulance."

"No, no. We can't. We can take care of him here."

The argument pulled Tony back from the weightless abyss where he'd been. He felt gentle hands on his body, but the pain took more precedence, specifically the sharpness in his chest everytime he took a breath, or rather, attempted to take a breath, because he wasn't really getting any air. He missed the reprieve he'd found in the dark.

"Madam, you must see he needs expert medical attention."

"I don't want other people touching him. They won't be as gentle as we will. Help me move him won't you?"

He knew that voice. That was his mother. His mother was here. That's when it finally registered that the beating was over, and Howard was gone. Was he still in the workshop? If so, he would need to get up and move before his father came back. He really didn't want another round. His limbs wouldn't work, though, and his brain was sluggish and slow. Already, the black haze was back.

"Madam. I don't think that would be wise. We may damage him further. I really think the paramedics would be better suited for-."  
"Just help me! Please Jarvis!"

"Very well."

"Thank you. Tony? Tony sweetheart can you hear me?"

"Madam."

"Come on baby open your eyes?"

"Maria! I think he stopped breathing."

"What?! How can you tell? He was just moaning a moment ago."

"Yes, a moment ago. He's silent now and I'm not sure his chest is moving. Maria, we have to get him to a hospital. Now!"

"Okay! Alright! Oh, Tony baby, please be okay. I'll get the keys and pull the car around. Jarvis hurry please!"

Tony was still thinking about fighting against the encroaching black when another pair of hands jarred him from his safe position. Pain flared mercilessly. He decided he was tired and didn't want to fight anymore.

* * *

Tony jolted awake in a panic. Something was horribly wrong! He didn't know the voices around him, none of them were his mother. A pulsing burn lit his throat on fire. There was something in his mouth, choking him and he couldn't open his eyes. Even more pressing was the feeling of something _cutting into his chest_.

"Heart rate just drastically elevated. Blood pressure spiking."

"Damn. He's awake. What was the kid's name again?"

"Anthony Collins, but the mother kept calling him Tony. See if you can calm him down. I have _got_ to get this tube in here to release the pressure or we're going to lose him. He's gone too long without adequate O2 intake. At this point we're risking brain damage or stroke."

"Tony? Tony? Can you hear me?"

Of course Tony could hear her. He wasn't deaf. He couldn't see her though, and he wasn't blind either.

He jerked at the feeling of something wet on his face and someone above him cursed.

"Keep him still damnit!"

"Sorry. His eyes are caked in blood. Poor kid can't see. Tony? Tony can you hear me? Try opening your eyes now."

He did, and they pulled open slowly as if they'd been glued shut. The bright light above had him slamming them shut again a second later.

"Okay that was good, Tony. Do you know where you are?"

He didn't actually. The last thing he remembered was being on the floor in his father's study. His brain was still moving slow. He knew the bright lights and strange voices meant something but he couldn't figure out what. Where was his father?

"My names Loren, sweetie. You're in a hospital. Your mother brought you in. She's very worried about you. Do you think you could calm down for us? That would help make your mom worry a bit less."

His mother was worried about him? She'd brought him to the hospital? He wasn't quite sure he believed that. She'd always insisted that doctors be brought to the house; but then he vaguely recalled her and Jarvis arguing about taking him somewhere. Maybe Jarvis had won? He didn't know. He was very tired, and this felt nothing like heaven. Although now that he thought about it, he probably didn't deserve to go to a place that nice. Maybe this was hell then? It sort of kind of felt like hell.

"That's good Tony, really good."

Was it good? If he _was_ in hell that meant he was dead. He distinctly remembered deciding that might be a good thing. He didn't realize it would hurt so much though. Maybe if he was good they would send him to heaven instead? He thought it might not hurt so much there.

"Got it. Begin suction."

Tony felt some of the pressure that filled his chest and restricted his breathing begin to lighten a fraction. He tried to blink his eyes open again, but the light was like shards to his brain, and he could feel his eyes watering as he squeezed them shut.

"That's okay, Tony. Don't try to force anything, okay? I need you to listen though. Dr. Caprese just finished putting a tube in your chest and it, along with the tube in your throat, will make it easier for you to breathe. Now that you can breathe better we're going to address the rest of your injuries. You've got some broken bones that need to be set, and I'm sorry to say those are probably going to hurt. But we're going to give you medicine to help with that a little bit, okay?

No. It was not okay. Tony had lots of questions. He didn't want a tube in his chest or in his throat. He opened his mouth noting the strange foreign object and… well… he suddenly couldn't remember all of the questions he wanted to ask. And then pain erupted in his brain and even the fact that he _wanted_ to ask questions was forgotten.

"Shit. BP dropping. He's seizing!"

"Hold him still! Damnit! I really hate TBI's. Let's get an AED on him. Quickly people, before his heart gives up altogether!"

* * *

The feeling of soft hands in his hair drew him out of the dark.

"Tony? Sweetheart? Can you hear me?"

He's still unbelievably tired, but peels back his lids and blinks at his surroundings. His brain isn't as sluggish as it had been and he understands immediately that he is in a hospital and not hell afterall. His mother is sitting beside him with eyes wide in concern and her free hand running up and down the parts of him not wrapped in gauze. He remembers then why he is there and feels tears stream down his face before he can stop them.

He quickly turns away from his mother. But he knows that she's seen them already, and the tears come faster as he realizes how pathetic he is. Stark men are made of iron. They don't cry. If his father was here he would beat Tony for being a sissy. His father is right. He's so completely useless.

"Oh Tony. My Tony."

His mother's soft exclamations are close to his ear and he feels the bed dip as she carefully eases onto the bed next to him, body hovering over his protectively. Her face rests on his shoulder, within the crook of his neck that is still turned away from her. The hand in his hair hasn't moved and in fact becomes even more gentle.

"It's okay to cry sometimes, Tony," she says so softly he almost doesn't hear her, but the wet drops on his neck punctuate the words firmly in his mind.

"I hate seeing you hurt," she continues, and then impossibly softer. "I'm sorry I'm such a bad mother. An extraordinary, sweet boy like you deserves a good mother."

The tears come even faster after that and while the thought of her tears are still quite disturbing, Tony basks in the comfort she offers him. In her soft 'shhs' and proclamations of 'it'll be okay.' Long after both of their tears have dried and his mother has fallen asleep beside him, he looks at her body, contorted around his bruised one, and her pretty face still stained by the tears she'd cried for him, and decides that he loves her more than anything or anyone. He decides he would do anything for her. Even die. Even live.

In that moment his purpose became crystal clear. For her, he'd start over new. For her, he wouldn't be weak anymore. He'd show his father that he was worthy by being the youngest person ever to run a Fortune 500 company. Then he would take his mother away, where she didn't have to worry about his father's drinking or his unpredictable temper, or cry tears over her son because she thought she was a bad mother for something she'd had no part in. Right then, she became the most precious thing in his life, and he was determined to show her that.

He would show everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Things just got real! Just fyi the next chapter is necessarily short and so I'll be posting it on Tuesday in addition to the normal posting for next Friday. Until then!


	5. Houston

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if despair had a name and liked to eat your nightmares for breakfast? The Avengers are out on a routine mission when despair comes calling, and it sets its sight on our favorite genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. As the team rallies to rescue their friend, they are brought face to face with the fact that they don’t really know Tony at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHIELD chapter ahead! I mean you saw the tags. You knew it was coming! More Tony and the gang on Friday!

_On candy stripe legs the Spider man comes  
Looking for the victim shivering in bed  
Searching out fear in the gathering gloom..  
And there is nothing I can do  
When I realize with fright  
That the Spider man is having me for dinner tonight  
~Lullaby by The Cure_

* * *

"FitzSimmons I need an update," Coulson called entering the lab.

"Um yes. Sorry. It took a moment to filter all the data being sent over from FRIDAY," Fitz said, coming over to throw a set of schematics on the screen. "That there is a schematic of the underground base. From the layout, I'd say there's definite indicators it was an old-."

"Hydra." Coulson confirmed cutting him off.

"Yea, looks like. I won't know for sure till we get a better look, but it seems to have been deserted years ago. The Avengers are located here."

He touched a room at the center of the complex that held five heat signatures.

"They aren't moving," Daisy noted, having come in just after Coulson.

"Yea that's the weird part. They seem to be completely immobile. No struggles, or attempts to get away. It's like they all sat down and took a nap."

"No other readings besides theirs?" May asked.

"Nothing human. I am getting a strange energy reading though. It's… well here. You can see for yourself."

With a quick series of jerks, he threw a new image up, superimposing it over the previous one. Three sets of eyes narrowed in confusion.

"They're intertwined?" Daisy stated, taking a curious step forward.

"All of them read as having contact with the strange energy, but the epicenter is definitely surrounding Mr. Stark."

"What's it doing to him?" Coulson asked.

"Well now, we don't really know for sure but the diagnostics FRIDAY is sending over indicates a steady spike in adrenaline and CRH levels. It's not dangerous at the moment but if it continues at this rate it could become problematic fairly quickly."

"Night terrors," May clipped. Nobody stated that nearly all of the reported cases of those who'd been suffering from them ended with their deaths in a matter of days.

"Yes." Jemma confirmed. "We believe that the energy is somehow capable of putting humans into a dreamlike state where it's then able to either plant visions inside the mind or pull visions out of the mind. We'd need more data to determine either way. More importantly though, I've been studying the energy readings output and there's a pattern. Every time there's a spike in Dr. Stark's adrenal levels there's a corresponding spike in the strength of the energy."

"It's _feeding_ off of him?" Daisy asked in disgust. Jemma nodded.

"We believe it feeds off of fear like an ectoparasite. Stark may be the focus now, but once his system gives out it'll move on to the other four."

"Great. Time sensitive." Phil chimed in. "How do we stop it?"

"Well...sir, we haven't quite figured that out yet. It would be great if we could get a sample?" she asked hopefully.

"Implausible without a little help," Phil admitted. "If _that_ group had trouble bringing it down, there's not much we could do without something to slow it down."

"Right. On it boss. We'll figure something out. Right, Jem?"

"Of course."

"Good. Let me know when you've got something. In the meantime, Daisy, I want you to head to the city; Romanov never finished her interviews. I'd like to know how the very few who experienced this thing and survived did it. May, you're with me."

She followed him easily, a little surprised when he headed into the cargo bay and towards the van at the back of the jet.

"Taking a field trip?" she asked, heading for the driver's side.

"Yep. Jemma so kindly requested a sample, and while it's a bit improbable, I thought we should at least try to appease her."

May rolled her eyes in disgust and started the engine.

"The morgue it is."


	6. Bigger is Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if despair had a name and liked to eat your nightmares for breakfast? The Avengers are out on a routine mission when despair comes calling, and it sets its sight on our favorite genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. As the team rallies to rescue their friend, they are brought face to face with the fact that they don’t really know Tony at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** *WARNING* This chapter contains moderate depictions of pedophilia/attempted rape. **

_"Deeper I'm falling into the arms of sorry. Blindly descending into the arms of sorrow."  
\- Killswitch Engage_

* * *

Tony was so damn tired. All he wanted to do was sleep, but he couldn't do that. Why couldn't he do that?

Right. He remembered, the deadline for the project was coming up fast, tomorrow morning in fact. On the bright side he had to be more than halfway at this point. He was 12 now, which meant it'd been two years already, and per their deal, he'd completed every project his father had demanded of him. His high school graduation was only a year away after all. Maybe one or two more demands, and he'd have a free pass to the college of his choice. He just had to make it through this last day. He could do that. For the chance to go to MIT, he could do anything.

He stumbled into the lab at a jerky jaunt, and Ronan looked up at the very obvious sounds of shuffling feet.

"Sorry I'm late," Tony said in greeting.

"Are you even awake right now?" Ronan smiled warmly, eyes creasing in concern.

"Pretty sure," Tony quipped on a yawn, "But we can take a scan of my brainwaves and compare it to the ones on file of me sleeping."

He hopped up onto the chair next to the middle-aged engineer who had become an unlikely friend. They hadn't started that way. His father had demanded he collaborate with the specialist, regardless of Tony's insistence that he didn't need an _assistant_. He'd been wrong, of course. He was always wrong when it came to his father. But this time it didn't sting quite as much as the others; mostly because Ronan was the first person to treat him as an _equal_ and not a child, or a punching bag, or a way to butter up his father. He wasn't here to babysit Tony or report on him to his father about how hard he was working. No, they were mutual developers. Partners. Tony liked that.

"You have scans of your brainwaves on file?" Ronan asked, turning towards him. Their knees brushed as they often did in such close proximity, and Tony sent his chair into a slow spin, counting the seconds until the nausea began.

"Yep. Weeks worth," he shrugged.

"Why?"

"I was really into cerebral electrical fields when I was 8."

"Tony. You're amazing, you know that?"

Tony lost count as he slowed to a stop and looked at the man. Ronan was much taller than Tony, but when sitting they were more level, and he searched those blue eyes for the sarcasm or hidden objective that usually accompanied such a complement. He didn't find any though, and soon he felt his face begin to warm at the realization that Ronan really meant it. He thought Tony was amazing.

"It's not like I cured cancer.." he mumbled, unsure how to respond to such sentiment.

"I mean it." Ronan said, leaning in and placing a hand on Tony's thigh. The blatant physical touch made Tony jerk. He ignored the uncomfortable feeling it produced, and it died quickly when pain didn't immediately follow.

"Okay," he mumbled again, mustering up a small smile in response before retreating from the intensity of the stare. There was something there he couldn't read, and it made the briefly departed uncomfortable feeling return.

He turned towards the table, causing the hand to slide off and took a needed breath.

"So what's left?" he asked, fingering the piece of metal they were trying to bend to their will. "Just fitting it into the casing right? Geez could you have made it smaller?"

"There's nothing wrong with liking small things." Ronan quipped, that smile back in place as he turned and plucked the design out of Tony's hands.

"Bigger is better," he shot back.

"I beg to differ," Ronan quipped. "Afterall, the whole point of this project is to make it better by making it _smaller_."

"Semantics." Tony brushed off the logic, reaching for his own design and mentally going over any parts he didn't need to produce the same result. "The boom is bigger."

"Yes, well…. semantics."

Tony grinned and took a freeing breath. He would miss this. Maybe after Tony graduated MIT they could collaborate together again. Maybe set up their own lab, start their own company, bigger and better than his father's.

Ten hours later the hand on his shoulder sent him a foot out of his chair.

"Hey, relax. It's just me." Came Ronan's soft voice from behind. "You've been going hard for the last six hours. You need to take a break."

The massaging hands on his shoulders should have felt nice. They always did when it was his mother doing it. But the feeling, coupled with the soft breath in his ear made him shy away from the touch.

"No, I'm close to figuring this out," he insisted. They'd been over the construction already, of course. Well, Tony had. Several times. He was missing something. He didn't know what, but if he tinkered with it just a bit... If he took it all apart and put it back together just once more he could figure it out. He knew he could. He hadn't told his father, or Ronan yet, but there was a way to make this even _smaller_. He knew it. He _felt_ it.

"We still have a few hours." Ronan insisted, hands following Tony and brushing down his back and up again. "You need to take a break."

Tony wasn't listening. His mind was moving a mile a minute, the parts and the way they fit together scrolling through his mind like a jigsaw puzzle. He pulled and pushed the pieces together and apart, every time a little closer to the solution. He brushed the coercive hands and words away. It was there. It was right _there_.

The feeling of something warm and wet on his neck jerked him out of his concentration with so much force that he froze. His brain felt like molasses as he forced it to focus on the strange sensations and words whispered against his skin.

"What?" he mumbled, confused and uncomfortable again.

"I said I'm going to help you relax."

The words, breathed against his damp skin sent a chill down his spine and he turned his body away from it.

"I don't need to relax," he said, voice still holding a frisson of annoyance.

"I think you do." The hands tightened on his arms, preventing any further movement. It didn't hurt, didn't even come close to leaving the bruises his father's fingers always did. But the threat of it was there and it shocked Tony into the quick comprehension that he was in danger. That didn't make sense though. Ronan was his friend. Ronan wouldn't hurt him. They were partners.

"I said no," he repeated, turning around and crossing his arms in the small space allotted to him between Ronan and the table. "I can take care of myself."

"I know you can, baby." The hands that had been briefly knocked away returned, and began to rub slowly down his arms before slipping further to rest on his waist.

"I'm not a baby," was his immediate response, but this time he didn't think Ronan's smile was warm at all, and as the knot in his stomach grew, he recognized it as fear. He was quite familiar with that emotion by now, it had always burst into his chest like a living thing whenever his father was angry or drunk, but this slow formation was just as unsettling.

"No. You're not."

Tony's eyes bulged in alarm as his friend moved in closer. He jerked his head to the side at the last second and winced at the feeling of lips on his cheek, on his jaw, on his neck.

"Stop," he said again, uncrossing his arms and pushing firmly against the looming chest in front of him.

"Oh come on." Ronan's voice turned pleading and Tony could smell the ham and swiss he'd had for dinner. "Don't you wanna feel loved?"

"No." Tony insisted, still pushing and growing more alarmed when there continued to be zero movement away from his person. His mother loved him just fine and she never… did whatever he was doing.

"Just let me show you how good I can make you fee-"

"Stop!" Tony nearly shouted as the hands on his waist slid to his hips. He pushed in earnest then and was able to take a full breath when the man stumbled back a step. The relief was short lived as he watched the warm open face that he'd grown to know well suddenly morph into anger and annoyance.

"I've been patient with you, Tony," he clipped. "Let you grow at your own pace. You used to flinch before I could even touch you. You still do, but now I can leave my hand there for seconds. Minutes. It's glaringly obvious you've done this before, and you know I wont hurt you like they did. But I've given you enough time, Tony. It's my time now. You owe me. You're ready."

"For what?" he asked, voice breaking in his confusion and growing nausea, anger, and bitter sadness. Of course they hadn't been friends. Of course he'd wanted something from Tony. They always wanted something from him. He thought Ronan had been different. He thought Ronan had been his friend.

"Let me show you," Ronan breathed, stepping back into Tony's space and sliding his hands around Tony's neck to cradle his face.

"I don't like this."

"Oh Tony," he chuckled as he forced Tony's head to look up at him. "You have no idea what you like, but I'm happy to show you."

The kiss was foreign and wet and he shuddered when he realized it was the way his father kissed his mother. There was a memory lurking at the edge of his consciousness. A dark figure with rough hands and a deep hiss of a voice. _Pretty little thing!_

No! He jerked his head away, neck straining against the hands securing it. Blocking out Ronan's kiss and the memory with it.

"Stop fighting me, Tony." Ronan breathed out a sigh.

"No." Tony clipped, pushing hard against the intrusive chest and making Ronan stumble again. "We're done. Get ou-."

The slap reverberated through the lab, but all Tony heard was the high pitched buzzing in his left ear. As it died he blinked and was surprised to find himself looking at the table that had been behind him a moment before.

"You do love a challenge don't you, Tony?"

He heard the words from far away, but they got clearer as the buzzing softened, leaving a searing pain in its wake.

The bare hand on his back jolted him out of his confusion, and he pushed himself up; or, he tried to push himself up. Strong thighs were pinning his legs against the table and the hands on his back pushed him down.

"Stop fighting me Tony."

_Fuck you_. That's what he wanted to say, he wasn't sure that's what actually came out of his mouth though. Taking a breath he reared up again and nearly managed to stand upright before a hand gripped his hair and slammed his head back down against the work table. Once. Twice.

"I said relax."

Tony's ear burst into a new pain as it made contact with the metal. He struggled for breath, choking on bile for several agonizing seconds before managing to swallow it back down. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the room to stop spinning and focus instead on the trickle oozing from his ear. Strangely it really, really, itched.

Worse though, was the itch along his spine as fingers pushed his Duran Duran t-shirt up further and further. The knot of fear in his stomach became a raging entity pushing everything else to the side. Tony couldn't be too embarrassed about the wetness spreading down his thighs because he was too busy trying to slow the bile that was trying to make another appearance.

"It's okay Tony." Ronan crowned, softly, breath back in his ear. "Don't feel embarrassed about that. I don't mind a little wetwork."

His system exploded at the subsequent hand that reached down and cupped him. His mind a blank scream of denial. _No! run, RUN!_ But he couldn't run, because he was small, and the man behind him was big, and he couldn't move, and he needed to move NOW!

Strength he didn't realize he had suddenly surged into to his limbs and he flailed,frantic and desperate, fingers clawing at whatever they touched, pushing against the constricting hand on his head, hard enough to unpin his arms and-

"Tony-damnit!"

He didn't hear the curse as one arm arched backward, an elbow connecting solidly with the man's face. All he knew was that the firm weight against his legs let up. Tony scrambled wildly, managing to turn halfway around, putting up a fierce struggle just to wiggle out from underneath the man. All at once he was free, and he made a dash for the door.

He'd been running he knew, so he didn't understand why he was just as suddenly on the floor, or why for several seconds at a time, the world seemed to have lost focus. Vomit came rushing back and his head pounded as the bile finally ejected onto the floor in front of him. After drying heaving twice more, he remembered his urgency and lurched away from the mess towards the door, but the damn thing kept _moving_.

He found himself on his face once more as his arm was yanked back, a new pain blossoming in his left shoulder as it was pulled up and behind him until it popped out of the socket. At his scream the limb was dropped uselessly to the ground and a familiar weight settled once more against his legs and back. He couldn't breathe.

"Don't cry, baby. You did this to yourself you know. Don't fight me anymore." The hand moving up and down his back was soft now, gentle. "I won't hurt you if you don't fight me, okay?"

And Tony _hurt_.

His head hurt, and his ear hurt; his arm and throat were on fire and he was so, so _tired_. He just wanted it all to go away.

Maybe Ronan was telling the truth. Maybe if he didn't fight, it would all go away. He didn't really believe that. It certainly wasn't the case with his father, especially when he'd been drinking. But the soft hands on his back were better than the bile burning his nose. So he didn't fight when he felt the yank and heard the tear that meant his shirt had been ripped. He didn't elbow Ronan in the face when hands reached around to unbutton his jeans.

He did blink in sluggish surprise when Ronan seemed to throw himself across the room and crash through a chair.

The emotion doubled when his father suddenly appeared and proceeded to beat the shit out of the guy. Tony admitted a small feeling of empathy at the scrambling form. He knew intimately how such a beating felt. He also knew he didn't want to be laying on the ground when his father was finished, and so began the arduous and familiar task of picking himself up. It was only his plethora of experience that enabled him to lurch unsteadily onto his feet, torn shirt sliding down his chest and arms to trap against his waist.

"Get out," he heard his father hiss, and looked to see hands wrapped around the creep's neck. "If I ever see your face again, even catch a _glimpse_ of you in my peripheral, I will hunt you down, rip off that perverted little pecker, and then, I _will_ kill you."

Ronan scrambled to his feet and for a horrifying moment Tony thought the man would turn to look at him, but his father's threatening form in between them was motivation enough it seemed, and he fled without looking back.

Tony closed his eyes as relief swept through him. He'd never been happier to see his father. He'd never been so grateful for anything his father had done in his _life_. The feeling was so powerful he felt his eyes fill up with water and spill over, even though he hadn't brought himself to open them yet.

Footsteps made him blink quickly, and as he watched his dad stride towards him, Tony almost wanted to hug him, to thank him. It was only previous attempts, which taught him that wasn't wise, that stopped him. Instead, he brought his quivering mouth up into a smile. A real one. One he usually reserved for his mother. He'd just opened his mouth to thank his father when a fist collided with the other side of his face.

The feel of it was so familiar, that he managed to keep his feet as he looked back to his father in confusion. Furious eyes glared at him and Tony gulped as he tried to figure out what he'd done wrong this time. Was it the vomit? Or perhaps his blood would stain the floor?

"I told you to cut your hair," his father hissed. Tony tried to reach up with his left arm to feel his hair, only to flinch when the limb didn't move and a jolt of pain seared him instead. But he didn't need to feel the strands with his hands to see how long it'd gotten. It twisted around his forehead, the length revealing that curls were clearly written in his genetic code. He hadn't forgotten to cut his hair on purpose. He'd just been so busy with this project. Was that why his dad was upset?

"I… I'm sorry?" he questioned, too tired to mount any real defense.

"You should be," his father sneered.

Tony was unprepared for the wad of spit that landed squarely on his face a moment later. The shock of it caused him to look up and see that the anger had morphed into open disgust. Tony flinched belatedly, the revulsion worse than a physical blow.

"You look like a damn _girl_ ," he snarled. "You think Captain America would let something like this happen? Stark men aren't _sissy little bitches_ , Tony. We aren't _weak_. I can't believe you let him touch you like that. It's disgusting. Cut your damn hair. Now! Or you can follow him out."

Tony's memory was faulty after that. He remembered his father slamming the lab door and leaving him alone, but he couldn't recall how he'd gotten to Jarvis or what the butler had said. He did remember the painful relocating of his shoulder and vaguely recalled the strands of falling hair that followed soon after.

Mostly though he remembered what his father had said about him and tasted the remnants of bile at the realization that it was true. He hadn't fought hard enough. He shouldn't have let Ronan touch him like that. It was his fault. Maybe Ronan wouldn't have attacked him if Tony seemed more manly. If he was stronger. If he wasn't so _weak_.

_Bigger is better_.

A surge of rage followed. Impotent and with nowhere to go, it turned inward and he reveled in the shooting pains in his back and arm, promising himself that next time he would fight harder. Next time, he was nobody's bitch.

Afterwards when his arm was in a sling and a new shirt hid the bruises, he ended up back in the lab, because he'd been told quite clearly that the deadline was still in effect. It'd been quiet. No hired babysitter, or reporter, or lying _pedophile_ invading his space. It was the first time his father had let him work on a project this important without supervision. The quiet after the storm had always been one of his refuges. Once the whirlwind had gone it was often peaceful, no yelling, no _hurt_ ing. So it shouldn't have mattered that he was alone.

He could never figure out why it did anyway.

* * *

"Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck." Clint chanted on repeat, hands raking through his hair as he paced back and forth.

For once, Steve wholeheartedly agreed. Not just in response to the disturbing memory they'd just seen, but to the fact that Banner was _definitely_ mimicking a familiar shade of grass.

"That was…" he started and then trailed off. It was what? He couldn't even say what that was. Tony had almost been raped. He was only 12 years old. But his dad had stopped it. Howard has stopped it. It was ludicrous at this point, but something in Steve was desperate to hold onto that, desperate to believe there was still some semblance of the man he'd known in there. But they'd just seen the man beat the boy nearly to death. Tony had been hospitalized, barely brought back from the brink of death. No amount of liquor could justify that kind of brutality.

Even though Howard saved Tony in this memory, it was impossible to shake the look in Tony's eyes as Howard snarled at him. The dejected shame and naked despair, as Howard blamed the boy for the whole horrific encounter. The ugliness of what he'd just seen from his one time friend warred with any objections, frightened him to the core.

"Clint?" The strained question refocused his attention and he turned to see Natasha slowly approaching the archer. Her hands were squeezed into fists so tightly they lost all color. At first Steve assumed it was in fear, but her face seemed to radiate barely contained anger. He put that question to the side, though, as he slid eyes to the doctor, whose frame was now quaking.

"Banner?" he called in a similar fashion, taking a step forward as well. They didn't even know if the doc _could_ Hulk out in this dreamworld, but he very severely did not want to find out.

"Done it before…" the doctor muttered, breath loud and heaving in and out of his nose as he fought for control.

"What?" Steve questioned.

"Done it before," Banner repeated louder this time. Steve watched the muscle underneath the skin ripple as green eyes turned to him. "He said that Tony had 'done this before'. He could tell Tony was a victim of abuse. He knew someone had previously hurt him, and the bastard took advantage. He _knew_."

Steve jolted as he recalled the whispered words. The doctor was right. And though he fought for a diversion, something to take the man's mind off of the memory, all he could now think of was one question.

"How many times?" the echo of his thoughts came from the doctor who turned a shade darker.

"Don't… Banner. We can't jump to conclusions. We don't _know_ anything happened. Maybe it was just that one time. And his father saved him." Steve tried to reassure. With his entire focus on the doctor he missed whatever was going on with Barton.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck." Clint repeated again, unable to manage anything less succinct because he was now stuck in his own memory. His father had come home completely pissed and stumbled into the wrong room. Those few minutes before he realized, before Clint's fists and screams could penetrate his father's addled brain, had been the longest of his life. When his father had realized his mistake he'd beaten the shit out of his son before stumbling from the room. It had only happened the once, and through sheer force of will Clint had all but forgotten. Except now the memory kept flickering between himself and Tony, his bedroom and a lab...his father and Ronin.

"Don't go there."

The hard, familiar voice of his most faithful friend broke through the barrage. Her firm hand on his shoulder grounded him.

"We agreed," she demanded further, reminding Clint that he and Tony weren't the only ones who'd had shitty guardians. For some, it had been their _job_. "Come back."

He tried. He took a deep breath, forcing his lungs to stop the short hyperventilating huffs they still wanted to take. The strong feminine hand now rubbing up and down his arm helped to block the flickering memories that still hovered at the edge of his consciousness.

"I can't go through another one of those," he finally managed to get out, hands scrubbing from his hair down his face. "If there are more… I can't."

"I know."

He looked up at her softened reply and felt tears spring to his eyes. She was so damned strong all the time. It was clear who held up who in this relationship.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. Sorry that he was a shitty friend. Sorry that he couldn't handle his fistful of shit when she and Tony were sitting on a mountain top. Sorry that it wasn't his hand on her shoulder offering needed comfort as evidenced by the bright red marks on her palms, the only sign of her distress.

"No," came her firm reply, which was almost abruptly cut off by an unearthly roar that sent the two jumping up, weapons drawn and aimed before they realized the threat was another comrade.

"Just… calm down Bruce," Steve placated, wondering if anything he said was making things better, or worse?

"You calm down!" Bruce snapped. Although the voice was so deep no one was sure whether it was Bruce or the Hulk speaking.

"No one… no one helped him," Bruce choked out.

"That's not true. His–."

The motion of Natasha's arm cut him off, and he raised an eyebrow in question, but she never looked away from the doctor.

" _We_ will help him Bruce." She started taking several steps towards him. "Us. Together. And no shade on the big guy, but we need _you_ for that."

They all watched him as he went still for a moment and then began to nod slowly. With each nod the green faded a little more until the subdermal ripplying stopped and the doctor's natural complexion returned.

"How?" Clint asked in the ensuing silence. "How do we help him?"

Bruce stopped his slow nod to turn towards Clint with a quick, defeated shake.

"I don't know."

"Where's FRIDAY when you need her." Clint sighed. "Or JARVIS." He tacked the latter AI on as an afterthought and was seconds from correcting that to Vision and nearly pissed himself when the AI suddenly _answered_ him.

"He is present, Agent Barton," came the familiar voice before a form flickered into view that did in fact resemble the Jarvis from Tony's memories.

"Uh… you all are seeing this too, right?" he asked, glancing at the others and taking in the shock, confusion, and suspicion respectively.

"Yes." Steve answered sounding a bit out of his element before seeming to bolster himself. "Where did you come from?" he demanded of the (Butler? AI?) stepping forward.

"Well, seeing as I'm a part of sir's subconscious, I believe it would be accurate to say that I have always been here, in some form or another. You, on the other hand, are quite foreign."

"Wait, wait. Which Jarvis are you?" Clint asked, not sure that he could even wrap his head around the possibility that it could be either incarnation.

"Both and neither, I suppose. I am the summation of the few experiences where sir felt the most secure. As this avatar was often the catalyst for such feelings it is only natural that I should appear to you as such."

"Oh my- You're the Hulk."

Bruce's illogical exclamation drew everyone's eye.

"I mean. Not literally but, I mean, it was Tony that helped me see that the Hulk was, well, _me_. A part of me at any rate. A defense mechanism of sorts. His theory was that the Hulk had always been there, and it was the gamma radiation that brought him to the forefront, into a near separate consciousness. This is– _you_ are something like that aren't you?"

"A fairly approximate description."

"Then you're here to protect Tony," Natasha verified, feeling a little relief at the answering nod. She'd done her best to keep it together but the reality was that, like Clint, reliving someone's worst moments were taking a distinct toll.

"How do we help him?" Steve jumped in, the pressure in his chest growing at the realization that Tony had felt more secure with his butler than with his father. He didn't like the very vivid and damning images that were now seared into his own memories that seemed to validate such an odd attachment.

"Insufficient data for an informed conjecture." Jarvis stated with hesitancy he hadn't shown before. ""I am...unsure. Reliving such painful memories has sent sir into acute distress."

The room changed then, so quickly that the four foreign occupants nearly tripped over their own feet with vertigo. There was no more white. Now they were in a familiar and nearly pitch black room. The vertigo increased as each one realized they were now standing within their own unconscious bodies surrounding the large table that had held Tony when they'd first entered the chamber. However, the disquiet of having their surroundings change within a blink of an eye were quickly forgotten as they caught a glimpse of Tony's face, the only visible part of him through the suit and blurred by some strange green energy hovering above him.

"What the hell is that thing?" Clint breathed, staring with caution at the fairly voluminous and shifting energy drifting above Tony.

"Unclear, though I'm certain it is the cause of sir's distress. It has a power over the mind, memories in particular, that I cannot circumvent."

Bruce was the first one to approach the table, frown deepening at the damp hair and the sallow, gaunt look of Tony's face, contorted under a shadow of despair.

"What's wrong with him?" he asked Jarvis, who now stood at Tony's head.

"Sir is dying," the protector spoke with strain. "The advent and increasing number of forced retraumatization have induced the release of a very large amount of adrenaline. As sir has only been allowed a few brief reprieves those elevated levels have been unable to properly dwindle. The strain grows every hour. You may or may not have noticed the memories are increasing in frequency. If it continues his heart _will_ give out."

"Is there a way to stop the overproduction?" Bruce asked, already jumping ahead to other very probable consequences of such prolonged exposure to adrenaline; his heart _could_ give out, or it could burst, or Tony could experience a massive stroke. He tried not to think of all the things that could go wrong.

"My… AI counterpart has attempted to wake sir with verbal requests and increasingly higher voltages of electricity to no avail."

"What about from inside?" Natasha asked, the only other one who fully understood Bruce's explanation of a personified identity as a subconscious defense. She also understood that if the enemy's goal was to experience and/or simultaneously produce despair, then hauling them along for Tony's ride was a rather twisted way of priming them for their own turn. "Can you wake him up? Or at the very least stop him from seeing the memories?"

"I have been attempting to do so since sir went under. Unfortunately, I believe part of the goal of this foreign entity is to cause the anguish that it is simultaneously seeking out. That being said, it has a firm hold of sir's conscious mind. I have not been able to access him. It is… distressing."

"There has to be something else we can do," Steve spoke up, having taken a bit longer to overcome the queasy feeling the transition had caused.

"Indeed. That is why I appeared to you Captain. It seems as if you all were dumped here and then rather forgotten. If we cannot get sir outside of himself, then perhaps we can get _you_ outside of him."

"Wake us up." Bruce nodded, reassuring Steve that there was now a plan of action.

"Great. How do we do that?" Steve demanded.

"There are several–." Jarvis cut himself off mid sentence, eyes seeming to bear down in misery. "It is back for more. There is no time. I will try–"

To their collective dismay the remainder of his sentence abruptly broke off as they were pulled into another memory.


	7. Hit the Floor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if despair had a name and liked to eat your nightmares for breakfast? The Avengers are out on a routine mission when despair comes calling, and it sets its sight on our favorite genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. As the team rallies to rescue their friend, they are brought face to face with the fact that they don’t really know Tony at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goood morning campers! Sorry I know I'm a little late posting this chapter. This week was _*insert meme of person screaming into a pillow*_. Thankfully, I have weekends off or they might have to roll me away into a room with padded walls. And speaking of things that can drive you insane here's another trip down memory lane.

_Here is the deepest secret nobody knows. I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)_

_\- E. E. Cummings_

* * *

He made it. He was there. _He made it_.

Tripping on the small lip that separated the outside from the in, Tony tried to catch himself before he fell, more afraid of the landing than the fall. The coat-rack was there to catch him. Rhodey's coat rack. The one that was the source of several days worth of teasing, because what college student needs a _coat rack_.

At the time it had been beyond lame, but as Tony clings to the only thing keeping him on his feet, he silently takes back every snarky word he's said about the thing. He would have to let Rhodey know he was wrong. Apparently, they did need a coat rack.

The humorous contortion of facial muscles that would grace Rhodey's expression when he admitted the fault was enough to remind him of his goal. The bedroom. He needed to get to the bedroom. He wasn't feeling the best right now and he'd learned long ago never to show weakness to _anyone_ , not even his first real friend -who wasn't driven away by his father, or had cancer and died, or was 30 years his senior, or turned out to be a damn pedophile- no, not even to him.

Taking a deep breath, Tony heaved himself off of the surprisingly sturdy piece of furniture and reached out to knock the door shut before attempting the last laboring lurch toward his side of the apartment. With each jarring step his wounds pulsed, while flashbacks to their cause made him dizzy, made the short trip seem longer than it should be.

It was his own fault, really. He'd been angry, an emotion he was beginning to experience more and more of late. The trick was to hide his irritation, just as he hid his pain, beneath a blinding façade of pearly whites and politically incorrect snark. Unfortunately, it was a trick he hadn't quite yet mastered when it came to his father. But he was older now. Bigger, though not quite as big as he one day hoped to be. Still, big enough not to take anymore of his father's shit.

Or, at least that's what he'd thought before he'd been succinctly reminded why that would never be. Time away had dulled his recollection of his father's ire, and his fists. As rude awakenings went, this one hadn't been so bad, nothing he hadn't experienced before. Certainly the searing pain in his chest that accompanied each breath was familiar. He barely even noticed the tang of copper filling his mouth.

The amount of blood caking his shirt was new though. Oh, he was used to seeing it, just not so much of it. Of course, there was that time a few years back when his dad had found out he'd hacked into the Pentagon* and had broken a 300k vase on his head, money he'd then been required to pay back with yet another lucrative upgrade to a military bulletproof vest.

Okay, so maybe he was used to seeing that much blood after all. It'd just been awhile since he'd felt this awful. But it was okay. It was alright. He just needed a little bit of sleep, and then he'd be better. He wouldn't give his father the satisfaction of knowing that an insignificant, negligible fist fight nearly took him down for the count.

He didn't have breath to cry out when his leg finally gave out. Tumbling down to the floor, his brain exploded into blinding white stars that were quickly fading to black. Though he fought against the incoming dark, _raged_ against the cold grip of weakness, he just couldn't find the strength to get back up. The only consolation he had was that at least this time, his father wasn't here to see it.

* * *

The slamming of a door jarred him awake, but it took the entire chorus of a badly sung _Part Time Lovers_ in order to pull himself together enough to force his eyes open. He couldn't recall how he got on the floor, as he only just managed to catch Rhodey's dancing feet disappearing into the room down the opposite hall.

Good. His roommate hadn't noticed him lying in a sad heap. If he could just make it to his room everything would be fine.

Forcing his body to move, Tony pulled himself another inch closer to the door. He didn't try to stand. His right leg had tingled like it was covered in pins and needles all the way back, and the fact that he could no longer even feel it was a pretty strong indicator that it probably wouldn't hold him up anyway.

Another inch and the bump of the door against his hand made him realize he'd been closer than he thought. Pushing the door open on silent hinges he pulled himself another inch. A hitch in his breath was the only warning before he was hit with a searing pain, accompanied by a distinct lack of oxygen. Tony took a moment to stop, making sure to take shallow breaths to avoid another hitch. He was so close. Already halfway inside the door. He just needed to pull himself a bit more, maybe try for a kick to shut the door, and he'd be home free.

He reached his arms, trying for one last big pull, when a sudden lurch of his stomach made him stop and gag, chest blooming in pain as he simultaneously tried to suppress the sound. For a moment he focused all his energy on keeping his lunch _inside_ his body. The battle was a short one; the black took him before his stomach could fully decide one way or the other.

* * *

This time it was the frantic calling of his name that brought him back.

"Tony?! Tony damnit wake up! What the hell happened to you man... Tony?! TONY?!"

It was the annoyance of the repeated demand that finally motivated him to attempt to open his eyes. Rhodey's frantic warm brown ones looked down at him with such worry.

Wait warm? He supposed they were warm. Or maybe he was just cold? No they were definitely warm. Like making cookies with mom.

"Tony?! Can you hear me man? Say something?"

He tried to nod, realised that was a very bad idea, and attempted to wet his lips instead.

"I think the deaf woman at the end of the block can hear you, Rhodey."

"You would know since you're always over there upgrading her tech. I bet you somehow made a hearing aid that let's her hear a mile away."

"I believe, I just said that," he responded, lips quivering as he tried to smirk.

"Oh shut up." Rhodey pulled his phone from his pocket.

"What are you doing?" Tony asked, dread creeping up.

"Calling 9-1-1!" Rhodey responded like he just asked the dumbest question of all time. "You do realize your _bleeding from the head_ don't you?"

"Stop. Don't." he rasped out, ignoring the blooming pain in his shoulder and chest as he raised a weak hand to grab his friends wrist. "I don't want to make a fuss. Not after everything has finally died down from last month. I just need to get to my bed and sleep it off."

"Tones, there is a lot of blood here. I think you should go to the hospital. If you don't want me to call, then I'll take you."

"No, no, no, you know they'll still get wind of it. I'm fine. Honest. I had a bit of a tumble down the stairs before I left to head back. I cleaned the cut, but I didn't realize it had started up again. It's not that bad, though. You know how head wounds bleed. Look see for yourself."

Tony managed to turn his head and released his grip on Rhodey's wrist, inviting him to get a closer look. There was a moment of silence while the older roommate inspected the wound that sliced right above his ear and down his hair line with a critical eye.

"This looks like it needs stitches to me."

"What, you're a medical student now? It's fine, I promise. Now just help me to bed okay?" And then, because he'd finally come to terms with the fact he'd be unable to get there without help, he swallowed his pride and spoke again.

"Please?"

Tony saw the defeat in Rhodey's eyes before the sigh came.

"Fine, but you're going to let me clean and bandage that wound like _you_ should have before you left on a damn three hour drive."

"Hey that was for your benefit," he quipped, trying not to slur his speech as he grew tired once more. "Thought I'd give you some practice for when you get shipped out."

"Shut up, Tony," Rhodey mumbled as he wrapped one of Tony's arms around his neck and bent down to squeeze his arm underneath the smaller boy's shoulders. Tony was happy to comply with that directive as breathing had become difficult once more.

"On three," he warned.

"Okay."

"One, two, and up."

Being the older of the two, and the fact that Tony was still growing, made the job all too easy for the new soldier and in seconds Tony was off the ground and standing on his feet. A moment later, however, he was bent over and vomiting, half of it missing Rhodes and half of it decidedly not.

Shame poured into Tony hot and heavy as he realised that weakness had bestest him in this fight. Rhodey was his friend. He was helping Tony when he didn't have to, hadn't even asked him any questions, and Tony repaid that kindness by ruining another uniform. He didn't even know why he tried sometimes, why he kept trying to prove his father wrong when the truth was so glaringly obvious in everything he did.

Schooling his face, he tried frantically to hide the emotion behind the smirk he'd cultivated the last couple of years.

"Sorry 'bout that," he quipped, looking up and bracing himself for the disgust that would surely cool those warm pools looking down at him. The _horror_ he got instead confused him.

"Rhodey?" he questioned.

"You're bleeding," came the near whisper as eyes flicked from the streaky vomit still on his arm to Tony's mouth. "You just threw up blood."

"Oh. That. It's not serious."

Almost before he could fully get out the excuse the hand holding him up vanished and Rhodey's phone was once more in his hands.

"No, dont-!"

The demand was cut short as his body began to crumble with the lack of support.

"Shit! Tony!" Rhodey yelled, dropping the phone and dashing to catch him. While Tony was glad he hadn't hit the floor, the pain blossoming at the firm grip of the arms and hands around his torso sucked him down, down, down.

He couldn't see, couldn't move, couldn't open his mouth to reassure his friend that he was fine. There was nothing but **pain**. He hovered there in that strange state of almost awareness as he felt Rhodey lower him to the ground. The movement pulled at his shirt and he knew the exact moment his friend got a glimpse at the bruises on his chest, as it was accompanied with another curse before frantic hands lifted the material to see better. Rhodey said something else then, asked him something maybe? But Tony wasn't there to hear as he finally slipped into full darkness.

* * *

Occasionally a voice broke through the black, but he never had the strength to rise enough to respond.

_...Shit. Shit! He's not responding. Tony? Tony can you hear me?…_

_...I don't know! Shit. I don't think he's breathing. His chest isn't moving!..._

_...Okay. Okay, yea I think I feel the air? Damnit I don't know!..._

_...It won't matter if he's dead by the time they get here! Tell them to get ready for us_

_...Allergies?..._

_...Fever is rising. BP dropping..._

_...I can't get a hold of his parents. What the hell happened to this kid?_

_...He just dropped into A FIB! Get a crash cart in here **now!**..._

_...Dr. Arnold? I think there's something wrong with his leg…_

_...looks like possible liver, spleen and kidney ruptures..._

_...Damnit. Prep him for immediate surgery!..._

* * *

The next time he surfaces it's blessedly quiet. Everything still hurts, but the dull heavy feeling of his limbs and brain lets him know he's on powerful pain medication. He doesn't open his eyes. He knows that no one is there.

That's alright though. It's not so lonely this time, not so hard, knowing that the pain he endures is for his mother. She would be here, he knew, if his father would let her. Howard wouldn't let her, of course, not after Tony's blatant display of disrespect.

Tony found himself smiling at the memory. It was foolish of him, perhaps, but no less than his father deserved. He'd been furious when he'd returned to find his mother in such a depressed state. Though unsurprised at his father's behavior, he'd been livid that Howard had been so careless as to let a _picture_ of his affair leak into the news. It was beyond disrespectful; it was cruel.

It had only taken one phone call to aunt Peggy to set things right. He had a feeling she knew more about his father's less reputable habits than she let on, but she never asked about his bruises or bloody noses and cut lips; though often there had been an open invitation in her penetrating, questioning gaze. If he ever did choose to reach out, he knew she would respond. He never had though, because he was a Stark man, and he could take it.

His mother, however, had done nothing to elicit or deserve such treatment at the words and actions of her husband. His father had been _furious_ when he'd returned from what Tony assumed was a very long and enlightening conversation with aunt Peggy, along with the remains of the self drawn divorce papers Tony had faxed to her that day.

No, his father had not been happy at all.

The hard goodbye had been worth it, though. He cherished the smile that had lit his mother's face when his father had asked her out to a dinner out of seemingly nowhere. Relished the laugh that tore through the house at the ridiculous antics of an entire circus troupe, filling up their outer patio for an anniversary that Tony had made sure his father hadn't forgotten. Adored the soft kisses on his head in the dead of night when he pretended to be asleep, and she pretended that her coveted head pats wouldn't have woken him even if he _had_ been asleep.

The memory made his lips twitch upwards. Though she was over 200 miles away, he could almost feel the soft hands that would run through his hair and the soft voice that would whisper the one soothing truth that was only allowed to be voiced in the quiet moments between the tsunami that was Howard Stark. Would she come to see him when she found out he was very hurt? Would she believe the lie he would tell her when she did?

"You better not be dreaming of Evelyn. I know that was a great night for you, but need I remind you of her horror when she realized your real age? You do know that's why she transferred right?"

His eyes snapped open so fast he almost strained them. He blinked furiously at the display of light and waited for the acclimation, determined to see what his ears already knew.

"Rhodes?"

"Right here my man."

A hand landed lightly on his shoulder as his eyes finally focused enough to see the familiar face looking down at him. Tony glanced around in confusion, noting the chair that was pulled close to the bed and away from a table, with the scattered remains of a backpack that spoke of long hours of waiting. But for what? For _him_? It was such a novel experience, he didn't even know how to respond.

"Why are you here?" his eyebrows furrowed. He knew that wasn't the right thing to say, but he couldn't figure out what was the right thing to say.

"Really? That's what you're going to lead with? Shoot. Hell if I know Tones. I came home from lunch with the plan to get a jumpstart on the end of semester project and what did I find when I sat down? Blood. Where might you ask? On my fingers. My _fingers_. How the hell did I get blood on my fingers without knowing it, Tony, hmm?

"Don't answer that; I'll tell you how. It was the door. You left handprints of _blood_ on the door when you came in. Of course, I didn't know that then. No, I had to find you on the floor when I stepped out of my room to wash my hands. _'I'm fine, Rhodey. I'm not dying. Trust me. Just help me over to this bed here where I would have fallen asleep and died and scarred you for life'_. Do you know how much stuff they hit you with Tony?

"Broken ribs, punctured lung, ruptured spleen, lacerated liver, perforated bowel, and femoral neuropathy. And that's just the shit I could easily pronounce. You also had some kind of subdermal or subdural brain bleed from the cut that was 'nothing' and some kind of hemo...pneumo...thorax problem in your lungs that _stopped your heart!_ "

"Rhodey."

"No, I'm not done. I had to sit there _alone_ because I couldn't reach your parents. That's of course after I realized I didn't even know their number and had to run back home to get it from the database in your car. I never did speak to them either. Just got some butler named Jarvis who says he relayed the message, but they're not here, Tony. _I'm_ here. Damn near pulling my hair out cause it'd been _three days_ since I last saw you, and the staff insisted that only immediate family are allowed in the ICU. And you want to know why I'm here?!

"I'm here because I couldn't take the damn _silence_. I'm here because I got so worried I called in a favor from Jumbled Jim, _Jumbled Jim_ Tones, to hack into the hospital database and put me down as your illegitimate half brother. I'm here because my best friend almost _died_ , and I needed to watch his six to make sure the sick bastard that did it didn't come back while he was out...That's why I'm here, Tony."

Tony was speechless. It was only half by choice, seeing as the drugs in his system made the tirade seem much longer and drawn out than he guessed that it really had been. He blinked, trying to think of something witty to make Rhodey laugh, but the concerned eyes that bore into his made him think perhaps the blink had been longer than he thought.

"Tony?"

"Thank you." The words were immediately followed by a coughing fit that jarred his ribs and chest tube and alerted him to the slightly horrifying existence of a catheter that was the only thing currently saving him from embarrassment.

"What?" Was his friend's immediate response before grabbing a cup of ice and offering it to him, telling him to take it easy. He motioned it away and repeated himself.

"Thank you," he said simply, relieved when he saw his friend's shoulders finally fall, the tension released. Rhodey slumped back into his chair on a long sigh.

"You're welcome."

The brief silence was so comfortable that he almost drifted off again, but then he remembered something Rhodey had said, and his eyes, that had closed at some point, peeled back open.

"That is _not_ why she transferred," he suddenly insisted, offended at the suggestion. "She told me she'd always wanted to study abroad."

"Sure jailbait. That's why."

* * *

Tony waited all that week for the call. Then, two days before his release he developed pneumonia, a fact that was explained to him twice, because the first time his body had tensed and he lost the ability to talk or move or even blink, as the overwhelming smell of chlorine assaulted his senses. He'd been told later that the rather terrifying anomaly had been a latent seizure, a result of the scar tissue build-up in his brain, and that he may suffer from epilepsy for the rest of his life.

He wasn't too worried about it though. The medicines were effective for both diagnosis and soon his stay would come to an end. No, it was the silence that bothered him. Even though Rhodey had ultimately driven him here, the news had still leaked. Just yesterday several paparazzi had almost made it to his room before being caught by staff and thrown out. He knew that she couldn't come. He knew that. He'd thought though, that once she'd found out she would maybe call? Just to make sure he was okay?

Halfway during the next week and three days before his new release date, Jarvis showed up. He was there when Tony opened his eyes that morning, sitting in the same seat Rhodey sat in whenever he visited and looking as if he'd been there the whole time.

"Master Tony. It's good to see you."

Tony's smile was genuine. He really had missed the man. Jarvis couldn't stay long, though. He'd only come to make sure Tony was okay. Apparently, his father had decided to surprise his mother with a vacation to Australia for an Outback holiday the day after Tony left. While it hadn't been specifically stated, he understood very well what Jarvis refused to say.

His father had been told about his hospital admittance and forbidden Jarvis to pass the information on to his wife. Then, to solidify the order he'd taken his wife out of the country where they couldn't be contacted. Of course to reassure her and prove a point, he would keep her close by.

He didn't understand why that little piece of information bothered him. It wasn't like he hadn't done this entire situation before. Of course, his mother had always been there before, but that shouldn't have mattered. At 15 he was a grown man, or nearly so at any rate. He very clearly no longer needed his mother to fuss over him quite so attentively. He could take care of himself now.

As if in answer to that statement, Rhodey called right at that moment to inform him that he was being sent to New York for a week for mandatory officer's training, but would call every day to check on him and would be back before the end of the next week.

When visiting hours were over Tony bid Jarvis farewell with much less enthusiasm than he'd been greeted with. His second seizure nearly occurred before the butler could make it out of the hospital and presented itself in a much more violent manner than the first. After another dose of Dilantin to counteract the effects, antibiotics for his pneumonia, and another round of oxygen therapy, he was finally left alone.

With the few people who cared for him otherwise engaged, he sat quietly in his bed for the last three days of his recovery and tried very hard to convince himself that it was the lingering pain of his injuries that made his eyes fill up; that it was the jarring cough from the infection in his lungs that made his throat burn; that his heart most certainly did not ache to be 10,000 miles away, with the woman who was never without it.

Afterall, he was a Stark.

He was made of iron.


	8. Tick Tock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if despair had a name and liked to eat your nightmares for breakfast? The Avengers are out on a routine mission when despair comes calling, and it sets its sight on our favorite genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. As the team rallies to rescue their friend, they are brought face to face with the fact that they don’t really know Tony at all.

_You were the one_

_I wanted most_

_to stay._

_But time could not_

_be kept at bay._

_The more it goes,_

_the more it's gone,_

_the more it stays away_

_-Lang Leav_

* * *

"I won't say I told you so," May quipped, getting out of the car and heading over to the near freshly filled in grave.

"Big of you," Phil sassed, tossing a shovel to her. He caught the gleam of moonlight off the metal and looked to a clear sky. _It's going to be a long night_ , he thought appraising the stars before looking back down to see May's cocky grin. _At least it would be beautiful_.

"You don't ask someone for their loved one's dead body after it's been buried. Even the famous Phil Coulson charm couldn't save you from that railing."

"I'm not sure if that was a compliment or a reprimand," he smirked, thrusting his own shovel into the dirt and getting to work. "Besides, lots of people are willing to donate their loved ones' bodies for scientific purposes."

"'Lots of people' does not equal the majority, Phil. You shouldn't have asked them at all, or at least you should have led with the demand instead of making them think they had a choice. _That's_ why you got slapped."

His cheek tingled in memory of the incident.

"Yea well, we'll return it when we're done," he said, spearing the shovel in the dirt once more. "Are you going to help at all or just stand there and gloat?"

"Hm. I can multitask," she snarked, finally bending down to remove a shovel of dirt.

Phil sighed. It was definitely going to be a long night.

* * *

"Special delivery!" May called with a huff as she and Coulson wrangled the body bag into the lab.

"Oh! You got a sample!" Jemma breathed with excitement. "Here, put him here." She indicated the cleared spot on the metal table, and began immediately preparing for the autopsy, grabbing tools, gloves, and a mask.

"How long before you have anything?" Coulson asked.

"A few hours at least," she muffled. "Should have something by morning, sir."

Except that she didn't have anything in the morning. Despite her very thorough dissection, being careful to be as respectful as possible and extracting the most energy saturated parts of the brain–such as the amygdala, thalamus, medial prefrontal cortex, and posterior cingulate cortex, all areas that directly contributed to the formation of night terrors–and even with a very credible sample, she still couldn't pull enough of the strange energy off of the corpse to get an accurate reading. There was just too much time that had passed.

"Anything?" Fitz inquired as she finally pulled back from the microscope with a sigh.

"No, nothing. Nothing that we can use. It's all very clear that the cause of death was a combination of immense strain on the heart, owing to the abundance of stress hormones still present in the system, which obviously contributed to the following major stroke, and yet, it seems as if the residual energy from such a traumatic experience has continued to deteriorate. I can't get a read on anything."

"Here. Let me take a look at it." Fitz slid his chair next to hers and palmed one of their many surveyors. "While you've been cutting up dead bodies I've been dissecting the data from Stark's bots. I've tweaked this little guy to more discriminately register similar energy signals. Let's see what it picks up."

Jemma stood aside letting him work, running a hand through her hair and trying to figure out how plausible it would be to ask Coulson for a live sample. As if her thoughts summoned him, he came strutting through the door with May right behind him.

"Status," Coulson demanded as he entered the lab. It'd been several hours since they dropped off the dead body, and it was his understanding they were on borrowed time already. With Fitz still fiddling with the surveyor, Jemma had no choice but to deliver the bad news herself.

"Well, sir," she started and stopped. "You see–"

"Oh hell." At Fitz' explicative all eyes turned toward him.

"That doesn't sound good," Coulson muttered. "What did you find?"

"The energy signal… it's…"

"You got a read?" Jemma asked in surprise, coming to look over his shoulder at the data before adding an explicative of her own.

"Mind sharing with the class?" May sniped.

"The Darkhold," Fitz breathed, finally turning to face Coulson with an understandably worried expression. "The energy readings are similar to our former readings of The Darkhold and anyone who came into contact with it."

"Similar or the same?" Coulson asked feeling his gut tighten just thinking about the havoc the book had already caused. He was not pleased to hear it spoken of again so soon.

"Similar," Fitz said, standing to pull up the schematics of the containment module, brain three steps ahead of his mouth. "There are marked differences, of course. Based on Jemma's findings it seems to rely heavily on the power of illusion."

"It's possible it traps victims in a hallucination or maybe a memory," Jemma continued. "Or even a combination of both. Based on the heavy saturation of the amygdala it's clear that fear is at least part of it's goal. The problem is going to be extracting it from the host."

"I think I can create a disruptor of sorts to at least slow it down, or maybe if we can trap it..." Fitz mumbled off. "The module may be able to contain it if we could get it–"

"Fitz! Are you seeing this?!" Jemma interrupted gesturing toward a side screen that contained the live-stream data coming in from the Stark bots still inside the base.

"...there." Fitz trailed off. "Huh."

"Is that accurate?" she asked, making the rookie move of questioning Stark tech.

"Yes, obviously, I'm just not sure… how."

"Maybe it didn't have enough energy before? Maybe the more it feeds, the more defined it becomes."

"Yes well that doesn't bode well for _them_." He gestured to the five prone figures.

"Yes but it makes it much easier to _hit_."

"True."

"Perhaps if we tinker with–"

"Yes, of course, adapt it to pull it–"

"Inside of itself, yes!"

"Hey!" Coulson asked, reminding them that he was still present and would like to be privy to their apparent breakthrough. "What are we looking at?"

"The energy reading, sir." Jemma explained. "It's changed."

"Solidifying," Fitz supplied, pulling up a different schematic of a very dangerous weapon that Simmons had created and discarded years ago, though not for its lack of effectiveness. As it turned out, disintegration was distinctly disconcerting to watch.

"Sort of," Jemma further explained. "It's now semi-corporal. A state that's _much_ easier to deal with."

"So you're saying you've got something that can stop this thing?" May asked.

"Probably?" Jemma said, moving around Fitz to begin cataloging the movement patterns that she could see more clearly now.

"I need better than probably," Coulson demanded.

"Chances of success would increase drastically if we had a sample," Jemma said softly, already tensed for the indignant sigh she knew would come with that statement. "A live one," she added quickly with a wince at May's raised brow.

"The only live sample is in that room," Coulson muttered. "We know from the footage this thing is fast. We'd need someone fast enough to get in and get out without getting caught."

"Yo-Yo," May and Coulson both said in unison. That was a problem, as Yo-Yo was on leave with Mac for the next two weeks and nowhere near India.

"On it." Phil clipped, turning and hurrying out the room, phone to his ear. They'd have to move fast.

May moved to follow him but wasn't quite quick enough.

"Oh Agent May, I'll have the body ready for transport in just a few moments," Jemma muttered, fluttering back to the autopsy table to quickly finish sewing up the holes she'd made.

May just barely refrained from cursing out loud. The very last thing she wanted to do was to make the trek back out to the gravesite she so recently left, this time without help.

"Hey guys," came a voice from behind, and May's brow rose wickedly before she turned to see Daisy enter the lab with a questioning gaze.

"Just saw Coulson breeze past me trying to bribe Yo-yo out of an early vacation. Did we find something?"

"Sure did," May clipped, cutting off FitzSimmons reply before they could speak. "I'll tell you all about it on our way back."

"Back?" Daisy questioned uneasily. "Back where?"

The unsettling smirk on May's face never boded well.

The plane landed smoothly enough, the displaced sand flying through the air proving to be more of a hazard than the wind. He smiled at the agent whose vacation he'd just cut short as she strolled off the plane with a smirk of her own.

"Coulson."

"Yo-Yo. Glad you could make it," he greeted, before turning to escort her into the Zephyr.

"Well, not sure I could resist the temptation of having a hand in saving the renowned _Avengers_. So not going to let Steve live this down."

"That's what got you? Not my offer of an all expenses paid trip to Thailand?" Coulson asked with mock hurt.

"Nah. Don't need any more vacation than what I got," she smirked. "Itchy feet."

They entered the lab a few moments later, and Coulson chose not to question the dirt in Daisy's hair or the satisfied and slightly disturbing glint in May's eye as she pointedly ignored the dirt covered agent.

"FitzSimmons," he addressed the duo, "I've got your runner. You want to get her up to speed."

"Yes," Jemma said fiddling with a container while Fitz approached the inhuman with a brief smile before attaching a rather chunky, but surprisingly light belt around her waist.

"You're going to get a sample," Jemma continued her fiddling, approaching Yo-Yo with a container about the size of a car battery. "Simply collect some of the energy inside of this container and bring it back. You activate it by pressing this. Once it's sufficiently filled it'll close automatically."

"This," Fitz said taking over and putting a small trigger in her hand, "is a deterrent of sorts. You press this button here and it should put some space between you and it. Of course, we're not sure how much space it'll provide, or for how long. Best not to dally."

"Great," Yo-Yo deadpanned. "So I'm just supposed to run down there, fill this thing up, and get out? Sounds simple enough."

"Should be," Jemma said with a strained smile. "Just, whatever you do, don't let it touch you. That's the most important thing."

"Right," Yo-Yo smirked. "I think I'm ready, sir," she stated, turning back to Coulson.

"Good," he clipped, eyeing the small screen detailing the Avenger's read-outs and not looking happy at what he was seeing. While the others stayed on the safe side of yellow, Tony's vitals had crossed over into red during the seven hour wait and were steadily making their way towards the fatal area marked by the end of the graph.

"Let's get you in position. Daisy, May, I want you ready with a containment field should things get out of hand."

"You got it boss," Daisy half saluted. "Go get 'em, speedy."


	9. Cranes in the Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if despair had a name and liked to eat your nightmares for breakfast? The Avengers are out on a routine mission when despair comes calling, and it sets its sight on our favorite genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. As the team rallies to rescue their friend, they are brought face to face with the fact that they don’t really know Tony at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The asterisk indicates a direct quote.
> 
> **Disclaimer** : Nothing you recognize is mine.
> 
> ** WARNING: Suicidal Ideation and Past Sexual Assault **   
> 

_I know what my heart is like_

_Since your love died:_

_It is like a hollow ledge_

_Holding a little pool_

_Left there by the tide,_

_A little tepid pool,_

_Drying inward from the edge._

_-Edna St. Vincent Millay_

* * *

Tony remembers the phone call. He remembers it because he'd been sleeping. Not very well, of course. He had blamed the jet lag and noted that Rhodey would be proud of the serious effort he was making to stay in bed. Tangled up in the sheets from tossing and turning he can't reach the phone when the call comes. When he finally pulls himself from the clutches of fabric, the ringing has stopped. For a moment he sags back into the pillow nearly convincing himself that he hadn't received a call at all, (because nothing good can happen this early in the morning) before the ringing comes again.

He tries to ignore the ball of dread that slides down his throat and lodges firmly into his gut as he answers. There are only a few words spoken. It never did take many words to send his world crashing down. He wonders if that's an appropriate metaphor, seeing as right now he feels more numb than anything. As if nothing is quite real. Not even the voice in his ear calling his name over and over again.

The tears are real though.

* * *

_Howard Stark, an icon of America's strength around the globe, and the head of_

_Stark Industries, passed away this morning along with his wife, Maria Stark in a_

_horrible car accident in Long Island, New York. The couple is survived by their_

_son, Tony Stark who graduated summa cum laude from MIT at the age of_

_seventeen. From an early age it was clear that Tony had a special gift, but_

_whether he will follow in his father's footsteps as the new CEO of Stark Industries_

_is a question still up for debate. There has been a great deal of speculation about_

_the future leadership of the company, which is still undetermined. One thing is certain:_

_Stark industries will live on. *****_

Tony cut the news feed and let the remote fall to the floor, too tired and exhausted to throw it properly. It had been a week since the funeral, but he could find no reprieve. Some unnamed feeling had slithered up inside his chest with that initial phone call and continued to sit there, making him feel heavy and weighed down. It was debilitating.

Unbearable.

"Tony?"

He looked up and met the comforting blue eyes of the person he'd come to think of as uncle Obie growing up. Of all the SI backers and board members Obie was the only one not clambering for him to do something, to fill the shoes that he had never been able to fit. People wanted to know what would happen next. They needed a response, but he didn't have anything for them. He didn't know what to say to them, how to lead them, how to direct them into the next phase when he didn't even know who he was anymore. He couldn't do it. He couldn't.

"I can't," he choked out, fighting uselessly against the tears already streaming down his face. "I can't do it."

"Tony, tony, tony," Obie sighed, wrapping a large arm around his shoulders and pulling him to his chest.

Tony didn't resist the touch as he once would have in rebellion, but collapsed into the embrace. He knew the shudders racking his body were a show of weakness. His father would not be proud to see his son sobbing in the arms of his business partner. But his father wasn't there to disapprove of anything anymore. And his mother wasn't there to soothe the bite of his father's disappointment.

He was alone.

"Don't worry about it, Tony."

The baritone voice, muffled by the chest his ear was pressed against, centered him. "I'll handle everything okay? You just focus on healing."

He should have refused the help. That's what his father would have done. It was _weak_ to accept such a handout. But he wasn't his father, and he was just so tired. Would it be so bad to let Obie handle things for a while? Just until Tony could put himself back together. Just until he could face the public and handle their intrusive questions and prying demands without cracking. Just until he didn't feel like he was dying every time he opened his eyes to a world without his mother in it.

He didn't have the words and simply nodded into the now damp vest under his cheek, unable to express his gratitude and _relief_.

"It's okay Tony. You're going to be okay."

He didn't know how long he stayed that way, curled up in Obie's arms as if he had any right to accept such comfort. Eventually, he was able to breath again without the risk of choking on his own grief, and noticed the glass of scotch that Obie had offered to him. He'd looked away from it initially, the sting of the memory of his father's hand making him flinch away from the perpetual culprit.

"That's from my father's stash," he said with loathing.

"No. It's from yours," Obie corrected gently.

"I don't want it," he clipped.

"Come on kid. It'll help you sleep."

At the mention of the word he shuddered, not in grief but in fear. He'd had the same dream each night since the accident, slightly different each time but always ending in a twist of metal and fire and his mother pleading for him, begging for him to help her. Save her. As in the waking world, so it was in his dreams. He was too late. Always too late. He didn't want to see her pleading eyes anymore. He didn't want to see his parent's mangled bloody bodies and know that it was his fault they were dead. He didn't want to sleep.

"I see their faces," he finally whispered in explanation. "Every time I close my eyes, I see their faces."

Stane sat back down next to Tony but didn't pull the glass away.

"Take it," Obie insisted with soft firmness. "Enough of these and you'll sleep like the dead. No dreams I promise. Trust me."

Well wasn't that a tempting offer. In a world where he could no longer trust anyone besides Obie and Rhodey the offer was too tempting. He took it.

It burned going down and made him choke for a second. His father always did enjoy the strong stuff. The watered down booze Tony had guzzled in college was for the weak. The second one didn't burn as bad. The third went down smoothly. By the fourth his eyes finally began to droop. At Obie's insistence, he downed two more before slumping over onto the couch and, as promised, slipped into a dreamless sleep for the first time in weeks.

* * *

"Another round on me!" Tony yelled, lifting his glass up and closing his eyes as he took in the deafening roar of approval from the bar's patrons.

He couldn't really understand what the blonde on his arm was whispering into his ear, but he really didn't need to understand the words when her hand slipped into his designer pants and was palming him, creating a delicious friction against his silk boxers.

He appreciated the sentiment, and made a mental note to add her to the list of possibles before reluctantly removing her hand. For now. He wasn't done drinking quite yet.

He placated her with a husky whisper in her ear. Dark promises he wasn't at all sure that he would keep but that sounded good rolling off his tongue.

The phone buzzing in his pocket brought him up short. Only a few people had the number, and if any of them were calling it he should probably answer. He hadn't forgotten how furious Honey Bear had been when he'd spent that rather wild week in Barbados and been unreachable the entire time. Until then, he honestly hadn't known Rhodey could lecture for three hours straight.

Another buzz and he remembered that someone was trying to reach him and reluctantly reached into his pocket to answer the summons, smiling at the caller ID.

"Obie! How's it goin?" he greeted with a genuine smile. It was always a delight to hear from the man. _He_ never lectured Tony.

"Tony wha-wow. Where are you?" he cut himself off with a slight grin as he took in the noise of the bar.

"Singapore! Bar!" Tony responded, knowing the man would know exactly which one as he'd been the one to suggest it to Tony a few weeks back. He couldn't say that he was disappointed either.

"Ahhh. I see. Well there's a board meeting in a few hours. You are supposed to be there," he said pointedly, sounding reprimanding for all of a-half second. "Can't say I blame you for skipping though," he chuckled immediately after.

That's right. Tony remembered. He hadn't forgotten about the board meeting. He simply hadn't wanted to go. It had seemed like a very prudent time to visit Singapore.

"Listen Tony, I don't want you to worry, okay. If you can't make it that's okay, you know that. I'll figure it out."

"Not worried," Tony denied shoving another, this time distinctly male, hand away from his pants with a bit of annoyance. He was trying to have a conversation here. "I trust you," he continued, trying to refocus and take another swig of his scotch at the same time.

"Leave it to me, Tony."

"Thanks Obie."

"Sure thing. Call me when you get back Stateside."

"You got it."

He hung up the phone then and downed the liquid remaining in his glass with the hopes of driving his father's voice out of his head. Unfortunately, he ran out much too soon. Well, there was one way to fix that.

"SHOTS!" he yelled.

The resulting cheer lifted him into the air and away from the despair that had become like a second skin these past six months. He pretended that the hands touching him didn't hurt as they each vied for a piece of him and later that night pretended that the winner's demanding embrace was filled with care instead of want.

High on their cheers, his drinks, and whatever he'd smoked an hour ago, it was easy to pretend they loved him.

* * *

It was the rain that woke him. The cold he could have endured, but the icy pellets pushed it from agony to unbearable. Peeling his eyes open he took stock of his situation.

He lay curled in a ball in what looked like a narrow alley. His back was to the wall, and after moving his pounding head an inch up, he could see the dumpster looming above, nearly on top of him, and alright, he had to admit this wasn't one of the worst places he'd woken up.

He racked his brain for a memory of how he'd gotten there. That was the downfall of getting shit faced drunk and indulging in narcotics. While the short peace that passing out granted him was a relief, his epileptic status guaranteed a seizure the next morning. Though he'd never reveal the truth, his faulty memory and inability to remember the person he'd spent the night with wasn't deliberate.

The state he was in this morning, however, indicated that somewhere along the way things had gone horribly wrong. He'd known a second before fully waking that he'd been stripped to his boxers. They hadn't even left him his shoes. Of course, they were worth nearly $3000 dollars so he really shouldn't have expected that decency.

His stomach heaved suddenly, and he tried to uncurl, to move and raise his head so the vomit didn't land on him, but his limbs were sluggish and the sharp stab of pain in his head at any movement-suggesting the likely cause of his current predicament-left a worse taste in his mouth than the warm sick now cooling quickly on his chest and arms.

He'd been roofied.

He took a moment to get his breathing back under control before going through the usual checks. His ribs hurt, and a shaky lift of his arm revealed nasty bruising that had most likely been the result of a kick or two. His knuckles, elbows and knees were all scraped raw but there was no pain around the important bits and he released a breath of relief.

He wasn't new to such an assault, but it always brought Ronan to mind. A memory he would very much like to never recall again. He supposed he should be grateful that he rarely remembered what happened the next morning. It's not as if he would prosecute the perpetrator even if he could, though he supposed it would be nice to know who to _avoid_ next time.

The seizure took him by surprise.

As a result, he tasted a coppery stream of blood seeping out of his mouth, the rest pooling at the back of his throat threatening to choke him as his body trembled outside of his control. It lasted seconds, a minute tops, but it felt like hours before he was able to pull his teeth from his tongue and further bruise his ribs by hacking up the blood that had caught in his throat.

He hadn't had a seizure that lasted more than thirty seconds in years. Had he taken his medication? He couldn't remember. Funny. That he could forget things that weren't good for him to forget, but couldn't seem to forget the memories that continued to tear at him.

He should get up.

It was too cold, and the rain that had started as a mist was beginning to fall in earnest. He risked life and limb staying there, but he was just so tired. The thing in his chest continued to remain no matter what he did. He tried to drink it away, but he always, always woke up. He tried to smoke, inhale, and shoot it away, but often that made the memories worse. He tried to sex it away, and that was wonderfully distracting, but it never lasted long enough, was never quite as fulfilling the next morning. He tried to spend it away, on himself... on others. He spent millions acquiring anything he desired, but it was all empty.

It meant nothing.

He ran, and he ran, and he ran, and he could never escape the _thing_ that had latched onto him. He was so very tired of running. He closed his eyes against the now sharp rain, thinking maybe he could just go back to sleep and this time, hopefully, never wake up.

"Tony?"

The familiar voice pulled him from the blackness he'd nearly achieved, but he struggled against it. He didn't want to come back. He wanted the sure promise of _nothing_.

"Shit Tony that better not be you!" the voice yelled, slightly muffled by the elements. Suddenly there were hands on him, the tactile sensation pulling him even further from the comfort of unconsciousness. He felt them push back the hair that had grown too long off of his face and curse again.

"Shit, shit, shit. Tones? Can you hear me? It's Rhodey."

The frantic and familiar fingers at his neck checking his pulse shot a spear of guilt through him. He was a bad person. Rhodey's voice should never wobble like that. He had made Rhodey worry again. Damn it. He couldn't even die right.

"Come on, Tones open your eyes. Please? Please?"

Rhodey never begged. As hands pulled him close he worked to acquiesce and struggled to pull his lids open. Brown met brown and for a moment neither said a word, simply content to stare at the other.

The warm weight now curled around him aggravated his ribs but felt so good he couldn't help turning into it. Then Rhodey blinked and Tony's sharp eyes caught the slight distinction between his friend's tears and the rain. He startled as a strange, sharp warmth seemed to cut through part of the void in his chest.

Rhodey remained silent as he slid off his jacket and wrapped Tony in it tightly. The quiet caring was so much more than the lecture he was expecting, and he was sobbing before he could even begin to put up the usual fight against having such a pitiful reaction. His frame-shaking hiccups did nothing to jar the firm embrace Rhodey wrapped him in. He was aware of several partial seizures, most notably marked by the brief cutting off of his own cries and knew that very soon they would have to move, not only to get out of the rain but to get his Dilantin.

He didn't want to move though. He didn't understand the strange need suddenly rising in him, but he was too tired to try and figure it out. Instead, he gave in to the novel feeling, once again hoping to die right in this moment, so he would never have to experience anything else but this strange, overwhelming comfort for the rest of his pathetic life.

Tony was not a religious man. Still, not for the first time his mind whispered the habitual prayer for reprieve he knew he wouldn't be granted.

_Please God, let me die._

* * *

The appearance of the underground chamber was so jarring in it's reality that Bruce, or at this point it may be more accurate to say the Hulk, went to attack the glowing energy still hovering over Tony before realizing his mistake. At the sight of his friend's pale, gaunt face, all of the anger seeped out of him leaving Bruce to melt into a slump atop the image of his friend, hands falling uselessly through the illusion.

He, perhaps better than any other Avenger, understood being powerless in the wake of violent, alcoholic fathers. It ate at him that Tony and him shared such similar upbringings, but with Tony in the public eye, it had to have been so much worse. Bruce had often been able to hide, whether from his father or the strains of the world in general, but with Tony in the spotlight since birth, he'd had no reprieve. No safe place to get away where there wasn't a constant demand on his time or energy or sheer brilliance.

Then to add to that the loss of his mother, she who was the sole driving force behind his superhuman ability to continue standing under the onslaught. Except that Tony, while extraordinary, was still very much human, and everyone had their breaking points. It caused a physical ache to have witnessed Tony's. In that moment he would have done anything to take away the despair that seemed to cling to his friend like a second skin. He could feel the Hulk raging in the back of his mind, angry about the lack of a target to smash.

Bruce realized that his tears weren't much of an offer of comfort, but at the moment, it was all he could give.

Clint stood frozen, ignoring Banner's little outbreak and unable to look at his friend still lying prone on the slab. He knew immediately that it was an illusion from the hazy quality, and though he knew Tony was still getting closer and closer to damaging an organ he couldn't deny the reprieve was welcome.

He never realized that the billionaire could be so vulnerable. Tony was a paragon of confidence, with biting sass that Clint took great joy in matching. So to see him so physically and emotionally beaten down left him with a strong sense of _wrongness_. He couldn't understand why Tony would allow people to treat him so horribly, why it was just a given that he wouldn't chase or prosecute his abusers.

His hands clenched into fists at the word, recalling the state that Tony's father had left him in. Broken, and bloody and on the brink of death, and still Tony hadn't fought back. He remembered going a few rounds with his own father, but Tony never lifted a finger. His eyes clenched shut as he remembered the experience through Tony's eyes as he curled into a ball and simply _endured_ the punishment. Expected it. Sometimes so calmly, as if he _deserved_ it.

Clint could feel the nails digging into his palm hard enough to draw blood, but he couldn't tamp down the anger enough to let up the pressure. The most he could do was to stay still and force his mouth to stay closed as his mind screamed curses at Howard Stark and Obadiah Stane and the leeches in that dive, and anyone else that had ever hurt Tony.

Natasha couldn't help the ingrained training that sent her eyes surveying the chamber the moment it reappeared. She noticed Banner's large burst of movement, body tensing in dread as he grew nearly twice his size, olive skin turning inhuman green. Her hands were at her waist before she remembered they were caught in an illusion and that while her guns felt real there was no guarantee they'd be effective. Turned out she wouldn't need them, though, as she watched Banner's frame shrink nearly as quickly as he had grown, before collapsing over the image of Tony.

Threat at bay she spied Clint and Steve, both seeming frozen in their own thoughts as they tried to process what they'd just witnessed, and more terrifying than that, what they had just _felt_. She wasn't sure the others had even noticed, but with the previous memories something had changed. They were no longer just casual observers. Somehow, they were beginning to feel what Tony was feeling. With the others occupied she allowed herself a shaky inhale at the magnitude of her error.

It wasn't often that she was completely off in her assessment of a person. She'd been trained since near birth to see what people didn't want you to see about them. She was skilled at finding her targets hidden motivations and then exploiting them. So how was it that Tony Stark had hidden such self-less, forbearing qualities from her?

Narcissist. That's what she'd put in his report.

Tony didn't even come _close_. Was she blind? For the first time she wondered if she even deserved the term spy. She felt disgusted with her own behavior towards him in those early days, the heavy flirting that she thought had been harmless, his strange lack of interest suddenly taking on a new light.

Closing her eyes against the vision of entitled hands grabbing at him, she swallowed hard past the lump in her throat as she realized she was one of them, guilty of making sexual advances where they were not wanted. He hadn't even fought her when she'd made herself comfortable on his lap, as if he was resigned to people taking liberty with his person.

Another mark on her ledger.

Steve was only vaguely aware of the very dangerous and swift transition Dr. Banner underwent the moment they returned. He was too stunned to do anything but stand there, still trying to process what he'd just seen.

Tony was an epileptic? Tony had been suicidal? Tony had been _sexually abused_?

A lump caught in his throat. Those were just not things that he associated with the man. Tony was overconfident, haughty and demanding; not lonely, hurting, and vulnerable.

Guilt sat hot and heavy in his chest. He hadn't known that Howard and Maria's death had affected the man so deeply. The descent into a reckless lifestyle was suddenly more understandable than it had ever been. Afterall, Steve had readily recognized how it felt to run and run and run and still find no relief.

He was coming to mourn just how wrong he'd been about everything, about Tony and especially about Howard. Had Col. Rhodes not been there Tony would have bled out on the floor of his dorm room before he even made it to adulthood. He didn't understand why Tony hadn't fought back. Though still small, he'd been old enough to resist. As a scrawny kid, Steve was intimately familiar with the wrong side of a fist, though he certainly got in a few hits of his own; but Tony, Tony never fought back. He was all defense.

The bitter taste in the back of his throat was suddenly overpowering as he came to the realization that he had seriously misjudged him. Doubt settled over him as he wondered if he had ever truly known the man.

"Captain."

The familiar voice pulled him from the churning feelings in his chest, and he was jarred back into their dire predicament.

"Jarvis?"

The form of the deceased butler appeared in front of him, looking strangely haggard.

"Welcome back."

"What happened? Can you get us out?" he asked, seeing Clint and Natasha step towards them in his peripheral, though Bruce didn't move a muscle.

"Not as of yet," Jarvis responded with a concerned glance towards the image of Tony. "I did try several alternatives, but it seems that whenever sir is pulled into a memory you are taken with him. As it is a place that I cannot access, my attempts to pull each of you outside of sir's consciousness have been to no avail. I am not strong enough on my own."

"So what? We're back to square one," Clint clipped with exasperation.

"Not quite. There is still a method with a higher probability of success, though it is equally high in risk. For you, that is."

"What is it?" Bruce's rough voice came from the side. "We'll do it. Whatever it is we'll do it. We don't have any more options. He needs our help _now_."

"Dr. Banner is right," Steve confirmed. "If it'll allow us to help him, we'll do it."

"Very well," Jarvis conceded with a nod. "You will have to be quick. I fear it may already be too late," he whispered with another worried glance at his creator. Three sets of eyes looked at Dr. Banner.

"He's right," Bruce confirmed, looking worried as he read the digital read out displayed above the suit's helmet, which he assumed was correct and in real time. "If Tony slips back into another slew of memories, I'm not sure if he'll be able to come out. And I'm not sure he'll survive them."

"I suggest you prepare yourselves," Jarvis interrupted.

Steve tensed while Natasha and Clint fell into a fighting stance.

"For?" Steve continued to prompt, brow furrowing as the butler's eyes lost focus for a moment before snapping up to meet his.

"There's not much time. When the alien energy invaded sir's mind his natural defenses were… caged, for lack of a better term. I myself only escaped because I have greater access to various parts of sir's psyche. We seem to be powerless against such alien advances, but against you… well."

The sound of a thousand mechanical feet could suddenly be heard far down the corridor. Bruce got to his feet slowly, him and Hulk merging back into the same emotion. Anger.

"You will have to tread a fine line," Jarvis continued quickly. "They will attempt to kill you. In that event I am unsure what would happen to your consciousness. You must not allow them to succeed, but you will need to allow them to bring you to the brink."

"I'm sorry come again?" Clint snapped, grabbing his bow and trying not to think of what would happen if his weapons were completely ineffective. He was well aware that technically they weren't real as he watched Natasha similarly arm herself with her own defenses, and Steve strap on his shield.

"The primary goal is to allow them to expel you from his psyche in which you are caged." Jarvis spoke again, now raising his voice against the increasing clang of metal. "In a sense, you are trying to make yourself small enough to slip through a crack, instead of trying to beat down the door. When your energy is depleted it makes the process easier. Of course, it could be just as easy to simply kill you. Avoid the latter."

"Get beat up, but don't die. Got it," Clint affirmed.

"Precisely," Jarvis accented, his form disappearing though his voice continued on. "Though it may seem a bit arbitrary, when the time comes, and you'll know when that is, you must push forth your own desire to leave and return to your body. Your own will to depart along with sirs' hyper desire to have you out should give enough push for you to slip away from energy's hold. Good luck."

No sooner had the voice stopped talking than the room suddenly flooded with what looked like the entire Iron Legion, and while an intimidating sight, the targets of those very large guns were not deterred.

Tony was worth it.


	10. Catalyst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if despair had a name and liked to eat your nightmares for breakfast? The Avengers are out on a routine mission when despair comes calling, and it sets its sight on our favorite genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. As the team rallies to rescue their friend, they are brought face to face with the fact that they don't really know Tony at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry I'm a little late again this week. These next four chapters are cowritten between me and my beta and needed a little more tweaking.

_Laugh, and the world laughs with you;_

_Weep, and you weep alone;_

_They want full measure of all your pleasure,_

_But they do not need your woe._

_Be glad, and your friends are many;_

_Be sad, and you lose them all,_

_There are none to decline your nectared wine,_

_But alone you must drink life's gall._

_-Solitude by Ella Wilcox_

* * *

Yo-Yo stood at the opening of the secret underground base and took a breath. The quiet hovering of the Zephyr above her was reassuring, as was the elongated reinforced rope around her torso that connected her with the plane.

"Ready when you are," Coulson's voice came in her ear.

She nodded and lifted a thumb in confirmation. She took a second to mentally recite the directions in her head before taking off at a dead run. The destination was so deep into the compound that several times she was sure she'd missed a turn. So when a green glow seeped through the doorway of the room around the next bend, she was relieved.

As she crossed the doorway, she nearly tripped over at the person laying just within, before she looked up and froze at the scene. The holographic images didn't quite do the real thing justice. There were the bodies of the Avengers, strewn around Iron Man in the center, but the cameras failed to capture just how _lifeless_ the bodies looked. It didn't look as if they were sleeping, it looked as if they were dead.

Shaking away the unrest the scene produced, Yo-Yo focused on the green _thing_ hovering above Tony Stark. Taking the right side of the room, she made her way around the entity. Left arm shooting out once she was near enough to the densest area around Tony, she began filling up the sample container.

The alien light had been so still that she yelped and stumbled when it suddenly _moved_ , and damn if it wasn't fast. Tendrils of light nearly looped around her arm before she remembered her fail safe and hit the button Fitz indicated on her belt. The electrical hum of the device coming online was comforting, the quick retreat of the tendril closest to her more so.

Getting her feet back, she made a dash for the door, deciding that whatever she'd collected would just have to be enough. However, as she exited the room and turned the corner, she couldn't help but look back. Her eyes went wide at the sudden closeness of a new mass of tendrils. She could feel it pushing against whatever protective field Fitz had put on her. The surprising sensation of cool liquid on her neck gave her the motivation to put on a burst of speed as she rocketed back to her original position, back to safety.

Adrenaline high, she could barely catch her breath as she made turn after turn, unnecessarily fearing the reverse order of directions and too terrified to remember she need not worry about going the right way.

By the time she got back to her starting point she was frantic with fear, nearly jumping up the dangling rope without breaking her sprint (at normal speed this time) away from the lip of the opening.

"Pull me up! Pull me up!" she screamed hoping they could reel her in before she was caught again.

The harsh tug upwards left her legs and arms still scrambling forward as if she could traverse the air.

"Go!" she gasped. "We have to go!" she insisted as they pulled her back on board.

"Whoa. Yo-Yo slow down. You're okay," Daisy reassured with a hand to her bicep.

"No. No it's right behind me. It was right behind." Yo-yo continued, spinning once she was on her feet to see the door to the Zephyr closing, no sign of green energy in sight.

"It was right behind me," she insisted again, heart rate refusing to come down, hairs still standing on end.

"Did you make contact?" Coulson demanded.

"It was there! It was there!" Yo-Yo murmured nearly tripping over herself to turn in a circle and ensure there were no flashes of green hiding just behind her.

"Hey!" Coulson's snappy command drew her attention back. The firm hand on her shoulder grounded her. " _Did you make contact?_ " he asked again.

"I… I…" she started to take deep breaths, finally beginning to slow down. "Yes. It- it touched my shoulder. Before I could get away."

"Let's go," he said, grabbing the sample container out of her hands and promptly turning to head further into the ship.

"Sir?" she asked jumping to keep up with him and then slowing down to force herself not to run. The feeling of being chased continued to linger, giving her goosebumps.

"We're going to FitzSimmons to make sure the only thing you brought back is in this container. And then _you're_ going to medical."

* * *

In the bowels of the structure there is no one around to hear the angry exclamation of Iilk's ire as the tiny quick piece of meat slips through his fingers. He'd been bulking up the last day or so, unable to resist drinking more and more deeply. As a result, he isn't as quick as he used to be, which really annoys him because the little human that nicked him was _fast_.

No matter, his small loss in speed is made up for in strength and he can feel the tendrils of his energy follow her up and out of the cavern. They tickle along her skin even as her distance increases, and his influence decreases. By the time his energy dissipates he has learned much, and what he has learned does not make him happy.

It seems he hadn't been quite as thorough as he'd believed when he caught his current feast. There were people _looking_ for them and now they knew where he was. Still, he knew it would take them time. They were trying to build some sort of weapon that would stop him, but he knew building things wasn't a quick or easy process. He'd just have to stop playing with his food and get serious.

A part of him was worried by the confidence he could barely glean from the two scientists keeping the stolen part of him alive. Caution advised him to collapse the opening where they were entering his domain, though he knew when they returned it wouldn't deter them for very long. As he headed back to the chamber he decided not to let it worry him too much. By the time they returned with anything feasible, he'd be long gone.

* * *

Steve gasped as he just managed to get the shield in front of the unibeam a suit of armor sent his way. Regardless, he went flying across the chamber, back crunching noisily against the wall behind him. He'd wanted to antagonize the suit into attacking him hard enough to really hurt. That attack, however, was beyond hurtful; it may very well have killed him.

Fine line indeed.

A gunshot distracted the advancing suit and gave Steve a few precious moments to survey how the rest of his team was doing.

The huge green form of the Hulk was an obvious draw. Steve had thought the big green guy would have wiped the floor with the suits and had actively cautioned him not to eliminate _all_ of the suits as they'd need at least one threat to accomplish their goals.

However, it seemed as if the suits were holding their own. In fact the Hulk had been ensnared twice and had nearly lost consciousness the second time before he managed to punch his way out of the pile up.

His deafening roar was immediately followed by a flying suit, and Steve tracked it's progress over to Romanov and Barton who had been holding their own so far, but seemed to be flagging. There were just too many suits and each time they destroyed one–

Steve groaned audibly as another suit pushed through the doorway and made a bee-line straight towards him. Heaving himself up he gripped his shield tightly and charged back into battle, hoping he was only a couple more hits away from freedom.

*

Banner was rarely cognizant when the Hulk took over. He understood that on some level he must be, or maybe it was only that the Hulk was cognizant when Bruce was in control. Either way he'd been surprised the first time he'd Hulked out in front of Betty and the big guy hadn't harmed a hair on her head.

He still remembers screaming, straining against the thing inside of him, his fear palpable as he tried to stop the violent transformation happening too close to the woman he loved. He needn't have worried though. He knew now that Hulk would never hurt her. Just like he knew Hulk would never hurt Tony. Not intentionally. Not if it was in his power to protect the man. So as the Hulk grabbed an armor that had gotten too close and tossed it across the room like a sack of potatoes Bruce came to terms with what they would have to do.

The Hulk raged against him, arms twitching to move, to punch, to hit, but Bruce urged him to be still, repeating the truth of the matter as many times as needed. The Hulk was never going to win in a game where he needed to lose. Fighting was his M.O. It was not in him to take a punch and not send one right back. No, that was Bruce's area of expertise.

He'd most likely die. The minute there was an opening the suits would be on them. Jarvis had advised against such a course of action but they were out of options. While there was a chance Bruce would simply return to his own body if he died, there was absolutely _no_ chance if they couldn't get outside of their mental prison.

Tony needed help _now_.

Later would be too late. Trying again wasn't an option. So they worked together, both straining against their very cores to do something that had never been done. If this worked the way he wanted, by the time the others noticed, it would be too late.

*

Natasha flipped over Clint's back emptying the clip of the gun in her right hand while simultaneously reloading the one in her left. She'd resumed shooting before she hit the ground. Moving quickly she sidestepped a suit that dove for her and shot it in the back with her bites, now fully recharged.

This was her last back-up power pack. She would have to end this quickly.

The unibeam that lit up the small chamber like stadium nearly distracted her enough to get a face full of metal. She side-stepped in time for it to miss her face, but it clipped her shoulder. She bit her tongue as she went stumbling back a few steps before raising her uninjured arm and getting another electrocuting shot off.

In the brief interim she got a glance at Steve and whipped her gun out, sending a warning shot that went bouncing off the armor towards the suit that had nearly disintegrated him a second ago. It took the bait, changing directions to head directly towards her.

"See you on the other side," she gasped, noting Clint's last EMP arrow taking out a group of five assailants.

Then, she deliberately stepped in the way of the advancing armor and took a glancing blow to her temple. She didn't feel the rock wall she hit on the way down, but she did hear Clint cry her name in alarm, and as instructed willed herself the fuck _out_ before everything went black.

*

Clint was getting too old for this. His breath came out labored as he flipped and spun, using the thin upper ledge of the small chamber to weave through the suits. As usual, him and Nat made a good team. She would round them up, and then he'd deliver one of his EMP arrows into a group of them.

Too bad the EMPs didn't have a longer range. While really helpful in this particular situation, in the real world Stark had cautioned that taking out the tech of your nearby allies along with the enemy was counterproductive.

They'd just finished rounding them into a corner when a bright flash nearly blinded him and made him fumble the notch. It was only a split second but one of the suits managed to get past him. He didn't worry though, Nat would take care of it.

Except that she didn't.

"See you on the other side."

Her gasp of pain made his gut clench as his arrow went flying. He turned in alarm, but wasn't quick enough to stop the suit she threw herself in front of.

"Nat!" he yelled, seeing five more suits enter the chamber in his peripheral but too busy taking out the one that had sent her flying into the rock wall with a horrific crunch. For a moment he was sick to his stomach as he watched her flop to the ground, her chest visibly heaving in an effort to keep beating.

He nearly began tearing up before her last words registered, and he remembered why they were fighting. That split second of distraction was enough though and he was barely able to dodge the beam aimed at the side of his head.

Unfortunately, (or fortunately?) there was nowhere to go. Steve was busy with two suits of his own, and without Nat he was quickly surrounded.

He was braced for the metal punch headed towards his ribs, hoping it to be the final blow to kick him out of here, when everything went black as yet another memory took over.

* * *

Tony tries not to stagger as he puts the finishing touches on the latest version of the suit. By this time in the day, he'd normally either be still down in his lab or crashing from the previous week's lack of sleep. In fact, he'd been on his way to do the latter when the solution to a problem he'd been working on regarding the suit's hydraulics system had suddenly struck, and he'd grabbed the closest halo screen he could find.

That was nearly eight hours ago.

Now his head is pounding from the lack of sleep, his legs feel like they'll give up on him any moment, and his back aches from swiveling back and forth between the various displays projected along either side of the windows, but the updates for the Mark 46 are moments from being finished. There's just one more adjustment he needs to make.

A noise draws his attention, and Tony glances up from his makeshift work station in the communal kitchen to see Steve, Clint, and Natasha exiting the elevator. Both of the spies are wearing sweats, clearly returning from another sparring match in the gym. Steve looks preoccupied and flustered, staring at the new StarkPad Tony had given him last month.

He registers their presence with a brief glance, but his mind is so occupied with finishing, he doesn't manage more than a grunt of acknowledgement before returning to the project at hand.

God, he's so tired. Just a little bit longer...

"Tony, I need you to have a look at this." The deep frown is evident in the Captain's voice as he holds the device aloft.

"Yeah, hang tight."

"Tony, now. This is kind of important." Steve makes his way across the kitchen, clearly expecting Tony to stop what he's doing immediately and help him with whatever it is.

Tony frowns. He hadn't heard the alarm go off, so there's not a call to assemble. Whatever it is, he decides, it surely can wait a few moments more. The sequence is coming together beautifully. He only needs to tweak it just a little—

"Tony—"

"Yeah Cap, I got ya. Just give me two more seconds—"

"Could you just—"

"One more second!" He holds up one hand as he uses the other to key in the last few strokes into the computer with a flourish. "Aaand...Got it!"

Tony claps both hands together in a moment of triumph and feels the familiar jolt of satisfaction he always gets when finishing a project. One more thing he doesn't have to worry about should they actually get called out.

The surge of joy dissipates quickly, however, and he's left feeling shaky and facing an impatient and clearly not amused Captain America.

"Okay Cap, I'm all yours, whatcha need?" Tony flashes his brightest smile in complete opposition to the exhaustion nipping at his heels. He's a master at it by now, hiding his fatigue until the point of literal collapse. A point he's currently nearing, but then they didn't need to know that.

The super soldier begins to restate his issue, but before he gets a chance Clint shoulders past them both on his way to the refrigerator.

"Woah, Stark." Barton recoils dramatically, scrunching up his nose. "Shower much? You stink worse than me."

"What?" His brain isn't working as fast as usual. Even geniuses start to lag when nearing 70 hours without sleep.

"No offense," Nat raises one eyebrow diplomatically, perching at the far end of the breakfast bar, "but you do look a little rough around the edges, Stark."

"Oh, that." Tony looks down at the grease-stained T-shirt and jeans he's been wearing for the past three days. Yeah, he probably doesn't smell too good either. "Well, I was just going to bed, so maybe I'll have a shower after."

"Going to bed?" Steve frowns. "Tony, it's 2 o'clock in the afternoon."

"Yeah. I-I know that." Tony glances at the clock on the halo screen. He had not in fact known that, but what does it matter anyway. "I was up late, so sue me."

"Must be nice to have grown up rich and never had a real job, huh? No schedule, no responsibilities. Sleep, eat whenever you want." Clint snorts before opening the fridge to peruse its contents.

"Hey! I've had plenty of jobs. Probably more than you."

"Yeah, sure," the archer shrugs, his face still buried in the fridge. "You got any more of that fancy deli meat from uptown?"

"Second shelf on the right, toward the back. Are any of you planning on telling me what you want anytime soon?"

"Yes," Steve perks up, taking yet another step closer to Tony. "I need you to have a look at these schematics SHIELD sent me as soon as possible. They're long, they're confusing, and I can't make heads or tails of them."

Steve holds out the tablet for him to take and there's a familiar, sick sense of _**wrong, wrong, wrong twisting in the pit of his stomach**_. It's only a lifetime of practice that keeps every muscle in his body from tensing.

"You know...why don't you just send it to me via email, or something. I can take a look at it when I get back to the lab."

"No, Tony," Steve presses, oblivious to the other's internal struggle. "It'll only take a second to look through them, and I'd rather have your input now as opposed to later."

"How 'bout this. Set it on there and I'll get it in just a moment."

"What? No, why? You're standing right here. Just take it." Steve pushes the end of the tablet into Tony's chest with a bit more force and his expression becomes a bit harder than before. Cold eyes challenging him to make another excuse.

It's annoying because he knows the Cap is right. It shouldn't be a big deal. _Just take it you moron. Stark men aren't sissy little bitches_. Tony tries to shove down the irrational fear clawing at him and force his hands to cooperate, but it's like they have a mind of their own. They keep rebelling, cringing back on impulse. After a moment, he does manage to get his hands to hoover vaguely around the StarkPad and it looks as if he's going to succeed in taking it.

But then Steve lets go.

Tony instinctually recoils, and the fumbled tablet crashes heavily to the floor. It lands first along the seam, breaking open the casing, then bounces several times before landing face down, the distinct sound of breaking glass enough to assure that the screen has also shattered.

All of them wince at the sound.

For a moment Steve just stares in shocked silence at the broken piece of technology, but soon enough his face reddens in obvious anger.

"Damnit Stark!" Steve kneels to pick up what he can of the pieces. Sharp bits of black mirror, falling as he does. The back of the tablet has come completely separated from the front, exposing various chips and wires.

Tony grimaces, as he takes in the damage. "Eh, sorry about that."

"Really? Because it seems pretty clear to me that you did it on purpose."

Tony tries not to bristle. Of course, Mr. Self-righteous has to start with an accusation. Must be a day that ends in Y.

"I told you, I don't like being handed things."

Clint snorts at that while Nat just rolls her eyes, but Tony ignores them.

"This is—this is ruined." Steve's head is bowed as he stands once more, still surveying the broken pieces in his hands.

Tony sighs as a small hit of guilt kicks in. He knows Steve isn't good with technology. The man out of time had only just recently begun getting comfortable using the tablet, and it's easy to see how genuinely upset he is at it breaking.

"Don't worry too much about it, Cap," he tries for a reassuring tone. "Plenty more where that came from."

Apparently, that is not the right thing to say.

"You can't fix everything with money, Stark," Steve snaps, his glare joined by matching ones from Clint and Natasha.

"But I _can_ fix this," Tony quips back. He's confused as to why Steve is making such a big deal out of this. He hadn't paid for the StarkPad anyway, and Tony has, like, a gazillion more. It shouldn't be a big deal. But no, Steve was too much like Howard. Practicality didn't factor into it. It's not the fact that it broke, it's the fact that Tony broke it. It doesn't matter that Tony can fix it. It only matters that Tony's is responsible for breaking it in the first place.

"That's not the point," Steve all but scowls.

"Yeah," Clint pipes in from his perch on the other side of the bar. "Might be a little hard to understand for spoiled rich brats who were born with a silver spoon in their mouths, but it kinda hurts our feelings when self-important jackasses think they're too good to take things from dirty plebes like us."

"Don't you think you're being a bit dramatic?"

"Ha!" Clint laughs, " _I'm_ the one that's dramatic? You just let a perfectly good tablet get smashed to bits for no good reason. Other than you're too good to take it."

Tony tries not to scoff, he really does. Because honestly, he's heard this one too many times at this point. Actually, so many times, he's starting to get really tired of it. He has no problem getting his hands dirty. Haven't they seen him go all-in alongside his clean-up crews after a battle? Hasn't he done enough domestic chores—cooking for them, serving them drinks and cleaning up after meals—to contradict this notion that he somehow thinks he's better than everyone else?

And hasn't he worked tirelessly for them, adding to his already extensive workload from Fury and SI, to update all their gear and keep their weapons running in top shape, practically bowing to every demand, seriously exploring every whimsical idea they throw at him? Sure, he has money. And sure he doesn't feel bad spending it, but he hasn't been lazy or condescending, well at least not on purpose. And half of the time, he's spending money on them!

Besides, he doesn't _know_ why he has such a stupid problem, but it's not like he's kept it a secret, so why can't they just accommodate him for once?

A surge of anger wars with a wave of embarrassment, and it takes all of Tony's considerable focus to suppress the flush threatening to creep over his ears.

"This is ridiculous. It's just a tablet. I broke it. I'll replace it."

"No, you're side-stepping the issue, Stark," Steve interjects before Tony can dismiss this whole conversation. "The point is, if you weren't so busy being…well, you…it never would've broken in the first place. Now it's a waste of time and money. Plus, I've gotta figure out how to recover everything I had stored on here."

"I could help wi—"

"And really, it's just the kind of petty, childish behavior I'm coming to expect from you, which is sad considering I know your father was a good man. It's disappointing he didn't raise you better than this."

Tony is about to make some quip about petty practically being his middle name, when that last comment hits like a punch to the gut and his mouth audibly clicks shut.

Steve is wearing his patented 'Captain America disapproves of you' face as he takes another step closer to him, using his considerable height advantage to loom in that vaguely threatening way Tony has always hated. He hated it when Howard did it, and he hates it just as much when Steve does it. Why is it that people always love to remind you how much bigger and more powerful they are?

"If you ever want to be even half the man your father was, you need to get over having everything your way, and start taking things seriously."

Any attempt to remain calm or snark his way out of this one dissipates, as the ball of anger in the pit of his stomach bursts into flames.

"Sorry, Cap. I didn't know the fairy tale, rainbows and kittens version you did," Tony spits. He tries to control his tone, but he can't quite help the bitterness that leaks through. "Maybe you were all buddy, buddy with my dad, but the Howard I knew was a cold, heartless bastard, who never gave a shit about me and couldn't wait to ship me off to boarding school the first chance he got."

"Well, gee. I wonder why. It'd take a saint not to want to be rid of you at some point."

Tony knows the comment shouldn't hurt all that bad. He should just brush it off like he does everything else. After all, _far worse_ has been said about him, and said loudly, for the majority of his life.

But for some reason coming from his team, from people he is beginning, against his better instincts, to trust. After all their battles together, after over a year of living together…it cuts deeper than he would've ever anticipated.

Suddenly his ears are ringing, the world feels like it's spinning and he's worried his legs really will give out in front of everyone, a final confirmation of his worthlessness for all to see.

Tony knows he should stand his ground. Come up with something witty and dismissive to show that they haven't got to him. But all he can think about is how to get out of here. He can't argue something he already knows is true. Howard had screamed it at him during every beating, every cold look, every snear. He can't deal with this.

To his utter embarrassment, he flees. Turns and stumbles toward the elevator without another word. He's tired, he just needs to sleep, forget everything else.

"What a drama queen," he hears Clint snicker in the background.

That's right. Just a spoiled, worthless brat who they kept around for the gadgets and the free rent, that's all he is to them. That's all he'll ever be. He doesn't know why he's so disappointed. He doesn't know why he ever thought it'd be any different.

* * *

Guilt and remorse rain heavily down on Steve, mingling sickly with the self-hatred and hopeless sense of worthlessness that permeates from Tony. Feelings he'd caused. Now that he is getting to experience the other side of it, he finds his own behavior ugly and abhorrent.

Unfortunately, he doesn't have much time to think about it. Before he can register any more than that, the scene changes. It's not the chamber or the white room, so Steve knows they've been drawn directly into another flashback.

They're in a cave of some sort. The place is dark and flooded with a sense of fear, and there are men speaking harshly in a language he doesn't understand, as they drag a semi-conscious Tony into the room between them.

Stark is already bloodied when they tie him to the slab. It's filthy, crusted with dirt, old blood, and god only knows what else. Steve notices one man in particular, thin and shaking, who seems to be in charge of what is about to happen. The other men bark at him, pointing their guns before he takes up one of the gleaming tools from the metal tray next to him and begins the long, merciless procedure.

The whole thing is a nightmare shit show, sadistically played on a repeated loop. Stark's chest is flayed open. His tortured cries and desperate pleas rend the air as he writhes beneath the scalpel.

Several of the men are yelling, trying to hold him down. There's so much blood they're all covered in it, especially the one in round glasses, straddling him. The blood doesn't seem to deter them though, they just grip the mechanic harder as the doctor changes instruments, no longer holding a scalpel, but a saw in his hands. Steve has only a second to realize what they are about to do before the buzzing begins and the saw comes down. Tony's screams reach a fever pitch of sheer, mindless agony.

Eventually, they dose him with a chloroform, and for a few moments Tony goes blessedly limp. But after a short while he awakens and it starts all over again.

Steve yells for them to _Stop! Stop hurting him!_ But Steve has no body here and thus no voice. There's so much noise. Tony's shrieks are gut-wrenching and visceral, and his terror and pain leak into Steve's brain like needles dipped in poison.

Impotent and chained by silence, Steve screams with him.

* * *

Natasha woke and froze, the only indicator she was conscious was the large breath she took before she could control the strength of it. Her heart hammered in her chest and she resisted raising her head to check on the skull that she had felt crack against the wall a mere second ago. With her eyes closed she chanted the truth, forcing her limbs to relax as several microflexes confirmed that her skull was still intact and she wasn't in any more pain than the bruise she'd gotten on her temple and elbow when she'd collapsed to the ground.

Tuning her senses outwards she could tell the others hadn't gotten out yet as there was no movement, and no one else besides maybe Clint would be trained at playing dead as a precautionary tactic in enemy territory.

Painstakingly, slowly she lifted her lids, taking a moment to reorient herself. She'd been in a different position when she'd been flung against the wall in Tony's mind. In reality, she lay sprawled in the doorway of the chamber. Her shoulders lay within the hallway and she cracked her lids open further as the green light of the alien and warm light of Tony's sentinels allowed her to see several feet down the dark hallway.

Shifting her eyes down, she could just see the inside of the room where the green light intensified. She knew Tony would be on the slab in the center of the room, and she tried to remember where the others had been standing before they collapsed. Bruce had been the closest; she knew that. Steve was probably right on his heels. That left Barton, who would have hung back closer to her position.

She quieted her heart and strained her ears to hear any sound of movement. Very, very slowly she tapped out a light Morse code, just loud enough for someone nearby to hear, but soft enough to hopefully escape alien notice. The green light didn't move beyond it's strange shifting pulse but she didn't hear any response. She waited a full minute just in case. She'd given him warning before her little departure stunt and had no idea whether he'd taken the cue and followed her out.

She couldn't tell how time had worked while they were trapped in Tony's mind. Seconds could have passed or it could have been days. Focusing back on herself, the hollow feeling in her stomach and the dryness of her mouth alerted her that some time had indeed passed, though it couldn't be more than a few days. Anymore, and they would have all died from dehydration.

Time as a factor reaffirmed, she tried to decide what to do. The weaker Tony got the more the excess hormones would ravage his system. Attacking the entity solo may end up with her back where she started, which wouldn't help anybody. While she could see it now, it had been completely undetectable before and there was no telling if it could disappear as quickly as it had appeared. How did she fight an enemy that she couldn't even perceive?

The smart move was to slip away and get help. She knew that SHIELD was monitoring their progress. She was sure it had been at least 24 hours. They would know by now that something had gone wrong and send a team to retrieve them, and with something this big she'd put money on Fury sending his best agents. That meant Coulson and his gang; a formidable team with a pair of brilliant minds that may be capable of finding a way to fight this thing as long as they knew what they were walking into.

Decision made, she began the laborious task of picking herself up. She had no idea how fast this thing could go but Stark had indicated that it could go faster than she could run, so alerting it to her presence was very much not ideal. Her finger taps had gone unnoticed however, so using that as her threshold for volume she painstaking began to shift herself further out of the room.

Her heart hammered in her chest, eyes constantly shifting to monitor the green glow behind her, a sight she didn't dare look at just yet. It took her five minutes to work her way onto her knees. Time enough for the dirty floor beneath her nose to tell her a story she didn't understand but hoped was true. Someone else had been here. Swiveling her eyes about she could make out the drag of Tony's body and the footprints of the other four Avengers. But overlaid on several of the prints was a fifth pair, smaller than any of the other prints including her own.

It took her another five minutes to make it from her knees to her feet, as she cast about for a logical explanation. There could be more entities besides the glowing one behind her, but there'd been no indication that it had human form, much less feet. Plus the prints below her looked smudged and sloppy, as if the person had been running. They'd have to have been incredibly fast to outrun their captor though.

The name of a SHIELD asset popped into her mind as she took her first step away from the door. She stopped. If her reading was correct then SHIELD was already aware of their situation and most likely making a plan of rescue. If that was true then perhaps her mission had changed. With help on the way it may be better for her to try and help her comrades here, or create a distraction.

Uncertainty warred within her mind, but there was no time for hesitation. She needed to make a choice.


	11. Pieces of  Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if despair had a name and liked to eat your nightmares for breakfast? The Avengers are out on a routine mission when despair comes calling, and it sets its sight on our favorite genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. As the team rallies to rescue their friend, they are brought face to face with the fact that they don't really know Tony at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'd just like to take a moment and give a big shout out to everyone who's following this story, especially those who have commented. I'm glad to have you all here for this journey and I truly appreciate all of your thoughts and feedback! 
> 
> Also for anyone interested I do have a SHIELD one-shot called _The Runway Mission_ that you can read [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27116398) if you're interested.
> 
> **Disclaimer** : If its got **"quotation marks and it's bold"** then it's a direct quote from Iron Man. Again, everything you recognize belongs to Disney.

_"These tears you cry_

_Have come too late_

_Take back the lies_

_The hurt, the blame_

_And you will weep_

_When you face the end alone_

_You are lost_

_You can never go home"_

_\- Gollum Song sung by Emiliana Torrini_

* * *

**PAIN**. Agony like Tony has never known before rockets him into consciousness. It's dark and his mind feels shredded. He can't understand where he is, lost in flashes between the current torture and terrors of the past. There's a cacophony of sounds: scraping metal, guttural voices yelling, clanging instruments along with his own cries. They blend with the relentless suffering, leaving him disorientated. All he can feel is the knife slicing into his chest, a slow creep deeper, towards his heart, carving at him with an unyielding pitilessness. Tony knows he's begging. But the panic rips through him mercilessly, and he repeats the only thing he can manage.

" _PLEASE! PLEASE!_ "

It's a desperate and weak plea, and he knows his father would hate him for making it. Howard would sneer and yell at just how _pathetic_ he sounds.

But Tony can't manage to care just now.

He'd say anything, **_do_** anything, for even the barest hint of relief. He writhes and thrashes, wild and uncontrollable, but he can't seem to find any; nothing frees him from the misery as the cuts become deeper and more invasive.

Suddenly there's movement. They'd tied him down already, but now there's more yelling as human weight is added to his bonds. The loud ZZZZZZ! of a saw ratchets his terror up to new heights, and Tony's addled mind registers what's happening just in time to see the whirling metal come down on his already mutilated chest.

The world explodes. The crack of his bones, _breaking_ under the blade's pressure is deafening. So loud he can't even hear his own screams, which have taken on a new octave. He's trapped in a whirlwind of pain, the cool of the metal adding a different layer of torment to the already over stimulated nerves. His heels scramble against the dirt slab and his back arches. His muscles lose any semblance of coordination as the shrieks tear through him.

The cloth that finally covers his mouth is such a relief he barely comprehends the chemical smell of it, is grateful for it in fact, as he finally, _finally_ , slips into the waiting darkness.

*.*

He rises back to awareness only to find things infinitely, impossibly worse. The nightmare moving from the most depraved torture a sick mind could conjure, to actual hell.

**This is Hell**. Tony is sure of it.

And this time, he can't even scream as they continue to carve him up, this time from the inside out. His tormentors stand above him, unmoved by his wretched choking. The pain has long passed excruciating. His body is broken open, white ribs splayed, slicked red with blood, their violating hands now moving inside him, tearing at his eviscerated organs. His stomach clenches in horror as he watches. A high keening note blares ceaselessly through his skull, shaking him apart, while his mind is a blank scream of denial.

**Please God let me die!**

The desperate bid goes unheard and unanswered. He can't breathe. Maybe his lungs are too filled with blood. Maybe he'll drown and it will finally be over.

**Please God let me die!!**

His body jerks helplessly, rending itself against the onslaught. He doesn't know how long he suffers. It seems to go on forever, a never-ending scourge of terror and horror and pain.

Eventually by some grace the black claims him once again, and he clings to it like a long lost friend.

*.*

He wakes, and sleeps, and wakes again.

Nothing makes much sense, except that he has begun to dread consciousness. Even after the initial torture has ended, the pain remains, surrounding him, a new feature of his wretched reality. It's so grating he can hardly breathe. Like someone's trying to rip his insides out through his skin. He wants to scream, but he's too exhausted, so he whimpers instead. A low keening sound that would be more natural coming from an animal than from a human.

Someone's there in the darkness with him, saying words that sound vaguely familiar, but that Tony can't seem to comprehend. A hand touches his head. He tries to bat it away, but instead of moving, his arms just twitch uselessly at his side, too weak to rise. Even that slight motion jars something and, despite it seeming impossible, the pain ratchets up three-fold. Tony chokes on it, wishing fervently for unconsciousness, for anything but the god-awful agony.

Someone must have heard him, because he loses time. He knows because the temperature has changed drastically. The pain is still there, only now it's almost overshadowed by the fire burning in his chest. He pants, hoping to gulp down some cool air. Maybe that will help put him out.

It doesn't.

He moans. There's a sound of movement, most likely the person from before and Tony tries to open his eyes, but everything is dark and blurry and he's just so hot. Can't they see he's burning alive, cooking to death in his own blood. He opens his mouth to beg for water, but it's just another choked moan that comes out. His back arches suddenly as his back spasms, leaving him gasping in agony.

The voice is speaking again, " **You've...beat this...ark. Do...hea...me? Hang on…** "

He wants to beg the voice for mercy. He wants to beg the voice to make it stop, but his lungs only work to torture him further, as if they were expanding on spikes.

Something shockingly cold and wet appears on his forehead, and the momentary cool is so relieving he groans again.

" **Sleep, Stark. You n…t...sleep.** "

Tony doesn't know how he obeys, but somehow he does.

For a long time, he floats.

His brain is muddled in a deep fog, and his bones ache and shiver without asking. Something about the cold and the deep, earthy smell takes him back to a time he has no real memory of. An experience that shouldn't be there…

* * *

...It's cold and dark here, too, and Tony trembles helplessly. His head hurts, but he can't move. He doesn't know where he is and his heart aches because he desperately wants his mommy. But she's not here and she can't hear him when he calls for her. He begins to cry. Quietly at first, then louder and louder.

She doesn't come though.

Instead, some men in dirty clothes and masks come. They speak in a language he doesn't understand. He begs them to take him to his parents but their voices only get louder and their fists hurt against his arms and face. So he stays quiet and cries and tries to figure out what they want with his daddy. He knows his daddy's name is Howard Stark, and they repeat the name over and over, but he can't understand anything else.

"I'm hungry," he whispers hours later, when most of the men have gone. They left him tied up in a small, slatted metal box in the corner of the dark, cold room, but one man still sits by the door. The first time he doesn't respond to Tony, so he goes quiet again, until the grey tinge in the window becomes really bright. When he asks again the man yells something at him in the strange language. He can't understand the words, but he thinks that maybe the answer is no.

By the time the group of men come back the sunlight has disappeared from the window and Tony is woken up in darkness, shivering in the cold. They give him something then, something that looks like rice. It is not Tony's favorite but he is hungry and he takes it without complaint and eats. It fills him up, and he gets sleepy.

When he wakes, he is in a different room and sitting tied to a chair, ropes wrapped around his short legs and his chest, though his arms are free. He doesn't call out or make a sound and focuses on trying to wriggle out of the ropes, but they are tight and rub against his skin in a way that hurts really bad.

His progress is stopped when the door opens, and what he realizes now are bad men come into the room. They have a camera with them. He knows it's a camera because there is one like it in his daddy's workshop that he isn't supposed to go in; only his daddy's camera is bigger and nicer than this one. He wonders if his daddy is watching him at the other end. If so, will he come and get him and take him away from the scary place?

The men bring him a small device and make him hold it. He doesn't know what it is, but he likes e-ect-ton-ics and enjoys trying to figure out what it does. He hears the men talking, but since he can't understand he doesn't try and tunes them out as he explores the new toy. He's so enamored with it that he cries out in surprise and hurt, when it suddenly shocks him.

The metal drops to his lap where it hurts his leg before falling to the ground. The man closest to him picks it up and hands it back to him, but he is wary now and doesn't want to take it. The man insists, pushing it at him and Tony tentatively takes the device again, holding it by his little fingertips, away from his legs.

He waits, looking around at the room full of yelling angry men but when nothing happens he begins to pull the machine closer once more. He is back to exploring it when it shocks him again, making him yell this time and physically cast the device away from him. He is crying now, rubbing his sore fingers against his leg when a man picks it up and tries to hand it back to him.

This time Tony refuses. He doesn't want it. He hasn't figured out what it is, but he knows that it isn't pleasant and likes to shock him when he least expects it. He doesn't want to play with a toy like that. The men don't give him a choice though. Their insistence increases until they are yelling. Tony cries and cowers, afraid of the aggression but unwilling to pick up the toy.

His cries are cut short when a hand slaps his face. He nearly chokes on a hiccup, as he is slapped again and again in between intervals of yelling men gesturing at him with the device. When the slaps turn to punches and begin to hurt worse than the tingling reminder of shock in his fingers he takes the device.

The hits stop coming and Tony cries breathlessly, holding the device away from him so he doesn't get his snot and tears on it. He doesn't know if that will result in more hitting. He doesn't explore the device again but this time looks around the room. The camera is on him and he calls out for his daddy, who he is convinced is on the other end. He wants his daddy to come and save him and tells the camera so.

The shock comes again and Tony yells, prepared to throw it when a man grabs his arms with thick gloves and keeps his hand around the object. Tony releases his fingers anyway and lets it drop to the floor. He sees the punishment coming but is powerless to stop the attack. He thinks it goes on for a long time, but he can't be sure.

When they hold out the machine again Tony takes it. A few minutes later when it shocks him he holds it, teeth gritted and tears streaming down his now tender face. It continues like that until Tony can't hold it anymore. He knows he's going to be punished, but the first fist makes him see a bright light, and he can't remember the others.

When he wakes up he is sore all over and his stomach hurts. He is back in his metal box, and he decides he likes it there. The men don't seem to hurt him when he is locked inside. There is a bowl of rice waiting by his head. It is mixed with dirty water and has two bugs crawling in it, but Tony is hungry and he is not afraid of bugs, so he eats it.

The sun goes up and down two times before the men come back. He is awake this time to see when they take him to the room, dragging him painfully by his left arm when he fails to keep up with their long legs and stumbles on the cold, sharp floor.

He cries quietly as they strap him to the chair again. The camera is set back up and there are several men talking into what Tony can now see is a phone. They talk for a long time. So long he gets sleepy. He is woken up when a voice gets too loud, too close.

When he opens his eyes there is a man holding out a box to him. He is wary of the box, but he knows that wood doesn't shock people like metal can and so he takes it. It is heavy and there is something that wriggles around inside, but Tony can barely see it through the little holes. He rests it on his lap and continues to examine it as the men talk. He decides that it is a snake. Tony likes animals, so he's not afraid, just confused.

He is in the chair for a long time, the angry voices rising and falling until one man storms over to Tony and smashes through the box on his lap. Tony screams in surprise and pain as several splinters embed themselves into his leg and sharp pieces cut his hands that were still holding it. He's so focused on the pain of the splinters that he doesn't register that the snake is now out and slithering about his arms on his lap.

The men are yelling and pointing to him and he looks up in confusion, tempted to try calling through the camera again for his daddy. The bite comes unexpectedly and Tony screams then, loud and high as the snake he wasn't afraid of before rears back and bites him again. He tries to push the snake off of his lap but it is tangled around his arms, and he screams each time the snack snaps forward and sinks its fangs into his skin.

He's out of breath and shaking by the time he manages to untangle the snake and eject it from his body. He begins to cry for his mommy then, because he is hurting and bleeding and she isn't there to rock him and give him a hug. Then to his dismay he watches a man pick the snake up and by the tail and bring it back to him, but Tony refuses to grab it. He will take the hands and fists to his face and arms all day before he has to feel the sharp sting of the snake's teeth again.

The bad men don't like it though, and a pair of hands from behind him yank on his hair, pulling his neck back so far that it hurts. Strong dirty fingers pry into his little mouth and pulls it open while the man holding the snake by the tail gets closer.

He begins to squirm in terror. If the snake bites hurt on the outside he can't imagine how they would feel in his mouth or in his tummy. He doesn't want them to put the snake in there, but his struggles are futile and he can't get away as they get closer and closer.

A man with a phone stops the two before the snake is close enough to bite Tony's lip, but Tony is tired and terrified and hurting; the position the man is holding his head in makes it hard to breath, and he decides it'd be better to be asleep when they put the snake in him, so he let's the dizziness take him.

An explosion wakes him up. The man who sits outside of his metal box is napping on the floor, though Tony can see that he is hurt somewhere by the pool of blood that surrounds him. Tony stays where he is and can hear voices shouting down the hallways getting closer. The door is open, and he thinks about maybe trying to get away, but the metal box is cold and dark and no one hurts him when he's in the box so he stays there.

When the shouts finally reach the room he looks up to find men in uniform. These are not the men who have been hurting him. Their faces are blurry, but he notices the little flags on their clothing that his daddy told him to look for. It means the men work for daddy, and he sees a flash of the eagle on their shoulders. Does that mean they will take him home? He doesn't fight when they pick him up, though silent tears run down his face as his bruised body is jostled.

They take him out of the building where he can still hear explosions and gunfire and put him into a big truck. One of the uniformed men tries to hand him a container, but Tony is a fast learner, and he doesn't take it. He knows whatever is in the container will hurt him. He braces for the familiar punishment at his refusal and squints his eyes open when it doesn't come. They ask him a lot of questions that he doesn't want to answer. Days of not speaking have made him quieter and more cautious, though he does work up the courage to ask one of his own.

"Are you taking me to my daddy?"

"Yea Tony...we're taking you to your dad."

The one who answers him is also the one who held out the container. He opens it and brings it to his mouth to drink. Tony's head goes dizzy at the sight; he can tell by the liquid that spills out the side of the man's mouth that it is water. He is terribly thirsty, but he decides not to risk it. Now that he knows they are taking him to his daddy, he will wait to eat and drink there, where he knows what they give him wont hurt. Instead, he lays his head down and closes his eyes and drifts away.

* * *

It's a long time before Tony wakes and feels like he is in his right mind, like he's not actively dying. When he does, his eyes shoot open in surprise at the half-formed memory plowing through his veins. It couldn't have been real, could it? He should've been too little to have memories, barely three years old. Except the faint scars on his legs and arms that his mother told him were freckles, echo the truth he is trying hard to deny.

Unfortunately, he doesn't have time to process the possibility of having been kidnapped as a kid, a _toddler_ , because he has to deal with his current situation. Pulling the feeding line out of his nose is unpleasant, but after the hell he'd been in before, it's like a slap on the wrist.

It doesn't take long for Tony to catch up, though there's something deeply disturbing about seeing the result of what he'd lived through. The metal in his chest is heavy and invasive. He tries not to remember the sound of his ribs cracking open, his pieces of sternum being sawed off and removed, to fit the crude device.

The man who'd saved him is named Yinsen, and his description of Tony's current situation is depressingly bleak. He's been captured by terrorists and there are who knows how many tiny metal shards just waiting to shred his heart to pieces. Tony's a quick study though and accepts the thought of being hooked up to a car battery as a necessity to keep him alive. At least for now.

His kidnappers arrive much sooner than he'd like. He refuses their demands, because what else can he do. He's not a monster. A flash memory of hands and fists makes him swallow hard, but he manages not to whimper when they grab him. They shove him hard and he stumbles, clutching desperately to the heavy battery that is his life line, bracing himself as they yank him from the room.

He knows that whatever's coming is nothing good. They are yelling loudly, angry and aggressive, but he doesn't know what they're saying. The foreign language is familiar, harsh and grating, and it makes his head spin. It's all he can do to keep his feet under him.

Belatedly, Tony wonders if he shouldn't have been so blatant with his refusal. Should've eased into maybe. He's taken through a maze of tunnels and into another dark cavern. The voices rise louder, barking orders and he's shoved to his knees.

He's not prepared for being waterboarded.

Before he can comprehend what's happening there's a large tin of filthy water shoved in front of him, and a rough hand fists in his hair, ramming him down, face-first into the dark water.

It's shockingly cold. So cold, he almost inhales before he remembers to hold his breath. Not that it matters anyway. They keep him submerged far longer than he can withstand. Until his lungs don't just ache, they _scream_ for air.

He struggles violently, desperately, still clutching the battery. His fingers convulse instinctually, nails scraping against the hard casing, but their hold on him is ruthless, the grip on his head punishing. The wires spark in response to the splashes he's making, and they crackle as his mutilated chest burns and he screams futilely.

Water fills his lungs, making them spasm with pain, as the burning in his chest throat and brain mimic the hellfire from earlier, the water dripping onto the housing unit adding a unique level of anguish.

The lack of oxygen makes him see things, flashes really. _The explosion that led him here. Ronan's sick smile as he holds Tony down. His father's hands around his neck. His mother's body lying broken and lifeless. The burn of electricity on his fingers. Jarvis in his deathbed. The quick jab of a snake bite_.

There is no making sense of them.

Just when he thinks he's really about to die, they pull him out. He comes up sputtering and choking in a frenzied attempt for just one gulp of air; but he barely gets half a breath before he's back in the water, cries strangled into silence as the cycle repeats over and over and over again.

* * *

By the time they bring him outside he's already decided that he's going to die here.

Tony's not going to give them what they want and they're going to kill him for it. He's all but accepted that fact, when he sees the stockpile of his weapons and his stomach drops. This isn't what he'd wanted. This is not what Starks should be known for. For all Howard's flaws, the one thing he'd always done well was make sure that name stood for something good, something to be proud of. People respected him for that and Tony had longed, even after his father's death, to live up to the legacy left Howard him. That was why even with his partying and sleeping around, he made sure he gave people the best products, ones that were reliable, innovative and smart enough to prevent collateral damage. In some ways, he's still trying to make his father proud.

What would Howard say if he could see this now?

Suddenly death is not an option. Tony has to fix this, and he's got to live to do it. That means plan B. Pretend to cooperate and find some way to stop them.

In the end Tony is immensely grateful for Yinsen, though he can hardly believe it, especially given the sickening memories of the operation.

But it was Yinsen that nursed him back to health in the aftermath. The memories are vague and blurry, but he recalls a cold compress on his fevered brow and whispered words of encouragement. Every time he'd woken up, Yinsen had been there, caring for him.

It is Yinsin who reminds him that he can't go out like this. He can't just lie down and die, not with his work in the hands of those murderers. Even while knowing he'll probably be dead in a week anyway, Yinsen just responds with, " ** _Then, this is a very important week for you._** "

That had been the kick in the ass he needed, the inspiration for everything that came next. However, in the end, what he's the most grateful for is the hope and the company his companion provides in those long, dark months together, cocooned deep within the Earth. Over time Yinsen becomes more than a cell mate, he becomes a counselor and friend. He gives Tony something to focus on and fight for, a reason to walk out of that hellhole alive.

With Yinsen's help, he actually works at developing a miniaturized arc reactor capable of keeping his heart ticking. Once the arc reactor is finished and has replaced the car battery, Tony gets serious, but it's easy to lose momentum and he finds that it is Yinsen who continues to fuel his drive. He works diligently, flushing out his plan, the image of protective cold metal surrounding him, a haven that beckons in some deep, unknown part of his mind and is thus echoed in his design.

They say that sometimes trauma bonds people. Tony had never thought much about that before. He'd always been alone in his pain, but with Yinsen he realizes just how true it really is. Especially, when the leader of their captor pays them a visit, unhappy with their progress. He can't understand what they are saying or why they force Yinsen to his knees. He does, however, understand the sizzling coal held between metal prongs getting closer and closer to the man's face.

He barely knows Tony, but is willing to endure torture for him?

The hissing of the coal mimics a different hissing, and for a moment Tony sees the snake dangling above his own head, mouth stretched open.

Yinsen had warned Tony, many times, never to engage them unless absolutely necessary, but Tony can't handle it. He can't watch them do that. He steps in and to his everlasting relief, their captors relent. The event solidifies something between the two men. Something unnamed, but indisputably recognized by them both. It is a strange thing, knowing that someone would give up their life for him. Even stranger is knowing, without a doubt, that he would do the same. It is something he has no experience with, but that he finds unbelievably precious.

And so Tony had been sure that if necessary, it would've been him to make the sacrifice. That was the plan, after all. He'd go out in front and clear the way, distract them if necessary while Yinsen escaped. The man had a family. That's how it should have gone.

But Yinsen doesn't keep to the plan.

" **We need more time,** " the older man declares, looking in dismay at the terribly slow progress bar.

He says it like a revelation, like he knows exactly what to do next. " **Hey,** " he turns to look at the engineer, eyes hardened in determination. " **I'm gonna go buy you some time.** "

His stomach drops as Yinsen crosses the room to grab one of the fallen terrorists' guns.

" **Stick to the plan,** " Tony yells, but Yinsen ignores him. " **Stick to the plan! Yinsen!** " For a moment he struggles, trying to will his friend back, but Tony is trapped, the armor is too heavy to move on his own, and Yinsen has gone down the passageway without so much as a glance back.

The waiting is its own form of torture, and Tony's heart pounds loud and distracting as he wills the computer to _load faster, damnit!_

When he can finally move, Tony makes quick work of their assailants, dispatching them as swiftly as he can. He even makes a show of it in hopes he can draw the majority of their fire, and doesn't take time to check to see if they're down for good. As long as their incapacitated, he moves on, always scanning and alert. He's just taken out another group and rounded the final corner leading to the entrance when his eyes catch the white shirt and a flash of the round glasses.

His heart contracts painfully when he finally sees the man he's looking for, lying wounded and bloodied on a large pile of sandbags.

" **Yinsen!** " he calls, not caring if the fear has found its way into his voice.

" **Watch out!** " Yinsen shouts, and Tony turns just in time to see the head of this entire operation, the one responsible for holding them here, lift a rocket launcher and shoot straight for him.

The suit has a bit of a delayed response time, but somehow Tony manages to dodge to one side just in time. The rocket explodes in a ball of orange fire mere inches from his head, but Tony doesn't have time for that. He's got to get Yinsen out of here.

No more playing around, he decides, selecting one of the few rockets of his own and shooting it at the man. It doesn't hit square on, but the resulting explosion is enough to throw their assailant and dislodge enough rocks that he stays down.

Tony barely notices. All his focus is on the man responsible for saving him a dozen different ways in the past month. He lifts the mask so he can get a good look at him. Yinsen's face is drawn with pain, his complexion chalky. The amount of blood is alarming, warning Tony of what is about to happen, but he forcefully pushes the knowledge aside.

" **Come on, we gotta go,** " he urges, somehow managing to keep his voice steady. " **Move for me. We got a plan. We're gonna stick to it.** " It's really more of a plea than a command, and Tony tries to infuse as much encouragement as the older man had given him in times previous.

" **This was always the plan, Stark,** " Yinsen answers quietly.

" **Come on,** " Tony repeats, trying not to sound desperate. " **You're gonna go see your family. Get up.** " He tries to convey the rest with his eyes, _I'm not leaving without you_. And he's prepared to be stubborn about it if necessary. Though it'd be far from ideal, Tony is more than ready to throw the man over his shoulder and carry him out of this god-forsaken place if he has to.

Yinsen must get the message because he gives a little sigh, and just for a second Tony thinks that he means to gather himself, that there's still a chance they can fight their way out of here together. But his next words take that fantasy and smash it into tiny little pieces.

" **My family's dead.** "

Tony's eyes widen in shock. No, that couldn't be right. He'd spoken so fondly of them. He was fighting to get out just for the chance of seeing them again. It was why he'd held on. It—it didn't make sense.

" **I'm going to see them now,** " Yinsen clarifies, eyes begging him to understand. Begging him to accept it.

Tony's own eyes fill with tears as realization finally sets it. This was always Yinsen's plan. How stupid he must have been, believing he was going to save him, that he would play the bait allowing the older man to get away. Yinsen always knew he would die, but he stuck around to save Tony's worthless ass anyway.

A heavy weight settles in his lungs, and for a long moment he can't speak.

" **It's okay,** " Yinsen whispers, breath weakening. Even dying, he's still offering Tony comfort. " **I want this. I want this.** "

And that's it. There will be no more arguments. Tony knows, after all, what it means to desperately want to follow those you love down to the grave, to finally find that last bit of peace. It's not something he can begrudge his friend, and it's not something he can stop. So, he does the only thing he can do, though it's horribly inadequate and far, far too late.

" **Thank you,** " he says with all the sincerity in his heart, " **for saving me.** " The _in more ways than one_ remains unspoken, but he's sure Yinsen hears it nonetheless.

" **Don't waste it,** " Yinsen instructs. " **Don't waste your life.** "

Those are his final words.

The doctor takes two more breaths, and then he's gone. A swell of anger and regret seizes Tony as he watches his unlikely friend slip away, to the place that all his loved ones go. To the place he can never seem to reach.

The rest of the escape is a blind, mad rampage to the finish line. But something in him died with Yinsen back in that cave. Yet another piece of him, now shriveled and silent. And he wonders just how many more until there's nothing left. How many more until he's completely and utterly empty inside?


	12. On the Precipice of Defeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if despair had a name and liked to eat your nightmares for breakfast? The Avengers are out on a routine mission when despair comes calling, and it sets its sight on our favorite genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. As the team rallies to rescue their friend, they are brought face to face with the fact that they don’t really know Tony at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! So nanowrimo is coming up ya'll and the imagination station time has been real. I tell you this to say that with the frenzied writing month coming up there may be more days when I'm a little late getting chapters posted on time, but please know that they are all written and the story will be completely posted before Christmas. Ya know... barring the end of the world or something else completely out of my control. 
> 
> **Disclaimer:** If its got **"quotation marks and it's bold"** then it's a direct quote from Iron Man or Age of Ultron. Again, everything you recognize belongs to Disney.

_"And all the people say: you can't wake up, this is not a dream._

_You're part of a machine, you are not a human being…_

_Well my heart is gold and my hands are cold."_

_-Gasoline by Halsey_

* * *

For the second time in as many days, he doesn't see the betrayal coming. Somehow, even after everything, even after he'd learned Obadiah had gone behind his back and sold his weapons to terrorists, Tony hadn't been expecting murder. Not from him. Not from Obie.

The paralysis is sudden and crippling. The high-pitched whine momentarily deafening, as his muscles lock painfully and for several moments his lungs struggle just to breathe. He can feel a trail of warm blood flowing from his ears and down his neck. There's a twisted smile on the old man's face as he praises him for the invention. The infamous Tony Stark, yet again taken down by something he's previously made.

When the older man grabs his face, Tony wants to shudder, to bat his hands away, but his body remains impotent and still. The revelation that Obadiah was the one who ordered the hit on him is like another punch in the gut. A barrage of images from his three-month captivity flash through his mind. The hellscape of torments, the humiliating echoes of his own cries, the accusing eyes of those who died while trying to defend him. All of it was Obie.

For a moment the betrayal stings worse than the ringing in his head.

Obadiah had been there from the beginning. Some of his earliest memories are playing in the corner of the workshop while his mother is away, tinkering with the engineering kits Howard left for him, trying to build something impressive enough to catch his father's eye. He finally achieved his goal when he was four and built his first circuit board.

While his father's affection had been notoriously hard to tempt his way, Obie was always quick with a smile and a wink. And although they hadn't been particularly close when he was a kid, after his parents' deaths the older man suddenly became a friend, even a surrogate father. One of very few people he'd come to trust.

So, when Christine cornered Tony at the benefit and showed him those pictures, at first he was sure there'd been a misunderstanding. Perhaps Obie didn't know; perhaps it was a mistake. He should probably wait to confront him, a public function is not the place to air dirty laundry. But his stint in the middle east had given him a new perspective on life, and he'd felt something this important couldn't wait.

The first betrayal seemed to come out of nowhere. For a horrible moment he found himself frozen, fighting hard to control his expression. There was something menacing in Obadiah's whispered voice, the arm around his shoulders, a contradictory act of fondness, making him feel trapped.

In that moment, Tony could hear his father's voice calling him a fool, his mother telling him to 'smile, Tony.'

Something inside him tore. His chest was suddenly tight, and only years of experience, allowed him to maintain the carefully cultivated persona while the cameras flashed. Inside he'd wanted to scream. To ask why? Had he done something worth the knife in the back? Was he really such trash that even his oldest friends saw fit to betray him?

He hadn't known what to do after that. He went home, questioning everything. Every kind word, every affectionate pat on the back, every holiday spent together, every show of support. They couldn't all have been lies, could they?

That's when it clicked for Tony. Of course, Tony was a failure, after all. And he'd just been shown, in the worst way possible, just how much of one. His father would've garnered loyalty. He would've never allowed himself to be put in this position in the first place. Howard would have been paying attention. Howard would have known.

Obadiah had probably come to the same conclusion. That's why he was there for Tony when Howard died. All the one-night stands, the reporters who'd shoved a microphone in a four-year old's face and asked impossible questions, the business partners who always wanted more, Hammer, Ronan, they all wanted something from him, no matter if he was willing to give it. They had no problem forcing him down and taking it. But Obadiah was supposed to be different. He was supposed to have wanted Tony, not what Tony could give him.

But of course, he wasn't.

Tony can't remember if he barreled head first into his previous, destructive lifestyle on his own, or if he was pushed, but there's a memory of a glass of scotch he hadn't wanted to take and various assurances followed by shows of fatherly affection. Almost like the old man had played him from the beginning. Almost like none of it had been real.

That realization tore at him, sat like a rock in his chest, slowly suffocating him from the inside out. So, he shouldn't have been surprised.

Even so, Tony isn't prepared when the man rips his heart out of his chest.

Perhaps not literally, but effectively enough. _**"You really think that just because you have an idea, it belongs to you?"**_

Obie looms above him, a dark malevolence in his eyes, as he exposes the gaping hole in Tony's chest. His smile is twisted and greedy in the blue light of the reactor. No hint of the man he'd once known.

The pain hits the second the socket is yanked away from the casing's base wall. Tony gasps weakly, helpless as Obie takes his time, elongating the moment, seemingly indifferent Tony's silent struggle. A cry rises in his throat, but he chokes on it. There is something terrible and intimate about the way the older man almost pulls Tony's limp body to him, his voice filled with false affection.

_**"How ironic Tony, trying to rid the world of weapons, you gave it it's best one ever."** _

And all Tony can do is stare. Eyes held wide, as the man he once looked up to, trusted and loved, packs the only thing keeping him alive into a suitcase and leaves him to die. Alone and in agony.

* * *

Tony is not exactly sure how he musters the will to fight. It'd be so much easier just to stay down and let it happen. He thinks about giving up, about slipping off into the dark right on that couch. But the last parting words of an unlikely friend ring in his ear, _**"Don't waste it, don't waste your life."**_

The will to continue is both a blessing and a curse. As much as he hates it, he can't go out like this. He can't let his company, his legacy be written in blood. That, along with fear at Obadiah's parting threat toward Pepper, rises within him and pulls him to his feet, makes him stumble into the elevator on the off chance he can save her. It was alright for them to hurt him, to beat him, to kill him, but Pepper didn't deserve any of it. She was off limits. She was good and kind and full of life and _innocent_. He was too tired to fight for himself, but for her, for her he could get back up one last time.

The fight doesn't go as expected. He wasn't prepared for the sheer size of Obadiah's knock-off suit, but he has a lifetime of experience being the smaller opponent. His father's fists prepared him well for getting knocked around.

What he isn't prepared for is the sheer coldness and carelessness with which Stane fights. He can't give the fight his all because everything in him screams to protect the citizens, the innocents nearby caught in something that is ultimately all his fault.

He manages to save the family in the car, but can do nothing for the motorcyclist who goes flying when Stane snatches the machine from underneath him. The face of the man flashes in his mind, he knows he'll add it to the images taken from news reports of the dead in Gulmira. Another set of damning eyes.

He takes to the air, desperate to pull Stane away from the people, banking on the hypothesis that even if Stane got something that big to fly he hadn't accounted for the ice at high altitudes. And he hadn't. Tony's right, but the small victory is short-lived.

When Stane survives the fall, Tony's got only one idea left.

He hates he's gotten Pepper into this, and he hates to ask her for more yet, but he can't do it alone. He needs her help.

This last plan will kill him, but the price is more than worth it to save innocent lives. Besides, he deserves this. He deserves worse than this. So he yells at her to overload the reactor, blow them both to bits, while he tries to block out the words Stane hurls at him. Of course, the accusations ring true. He hadn't been diligent enough. He hadn't been shrewd enough. He had made too many mistakes. He'd trusted to easily, too foolishly.

He'd failed.

That's the last thought that goes through his head before the blast rips through him like a torrent. The electricity sears him with sharp fire, while his body spasms like it does during one of his seizures. He doesn't scream, however. Just closes his eyes as he's sent spinning into the air, before slamming into what remains of the roof's metal structure.

His heart lurches painfully, and for a moment he can feel himself dying. He knows he should fight again, muster some non-existent strength to stand once more. There was still so much he had to atone for.

But Obie's defeated now, and with the threat vanquished, the grief of it all finally brings itself to bear. The weight of his own wretched negligence for letting it all happen, for not being good enough for even one of his father figures to love. It crushes him as surely as the invisible elephant sitting atop his failing heart.

So, when the pain of imminent death rises into his fading consciousness, all he can feel is relief. _Thank God. Maybe it'll be over now. Maybe this time I can finally be done._

* * *

Each wave of sorrow is more crippling than the last, and with each subsequent memory, the anguish grows deeper.

Steve, Bruce, and Clint keep waiting, desperate for the reprieve to come, just one moment to try again to escape!

But there are no breaks anymore. No time to process the memories they've seen and now _felt_ with increasing, agonizing sharpness. No more opportunity to fight their way out of this.

Their thoughts echo Tony's, just wanting it to all be over. The heavy grip of despair sends them spiraling down with their dying friend into an unbearable state of existence, and they labor under the heavy weight of worthlessness that their own sharp, uncaring words heaped upon his shoulders.

The regret is tangible. The guilt, crushing. With no pause between one horrible memory and the next, their emotions begin to mix with Tony's, building up into a chaotic and violent crescendo that threatens to consume them.

Steve can't help but scream with Tony when they torture him, when they saw open his chest. Suddenly it's not the billionaire's bones cracking, it's his own.

Clint chokes in time to Tony's gasping breaths, as the man lays paralyzed on the couch where Obadiah left him. And when they waterboard him, Clint's mind flashes in tandem with Tony's, only it's not Ronan that he sees, but another hand holding his head, forcing him into the icy depths of lake Baikal.

Bruce knows betrayal and he knows agony, knows the feeling of having your body ripped apart. And yet Tony's parade of nightmares sear him in a way that's undefinable. Torture upon torture. Betrayal upon betrayal. There are no words for the sheer agony of it.

Yinsen's death is their death. A confirmation they cannot escape, that everything they love either betrays them or dies. They are cursed. No. Not true. They are the curse. On some level they know these are Tony's thoughts and emotions, but deep in the dark now, the difference becomes difficult to grasp.

They fully experience each blow from Obadiah, both with his fists and his words, though it's the latter that does more damage. Tony's belief in every word nearly overpowers their own reason, until each failure becomes their own. Until they are just as lost as him.

It's too late to save him now. They can feel it, just as Tony can feel the Reaper's scythe already tearing into his chest. There is no way out. Death is at the door, and now this nightmare is all they will ever know.

Trapped, they slide from one grisly memory to the next. An exhausting, hopeless spiral, ever downward.

* * *

Something in Tony breaks when JARVIS dies.

The AI, not the butler. The first death was very painful and very real. The cancer had spread quickly, and all the money in the world hadn't been enough to stop it. The kind, old butler was gone within months, not nearly enough time to say goodbye. But the loss was shared by his parents, sadness tempered by the arms of his mother, and the loneliness offset by the new, fascinating, and most surprising and civil conversations he'd ever had with his father. Jarvis was one of the few things his entire family could agree on.

Tony knows that it's not Jarvis when he begins to reconfigure and update the natural language user interface that will eventually become the most advanced AI in existence. He understands that the butler, his friend, is gone, and there is no getting him back. But he can't help how his anxiety decreases at the sound of that cool, familiar voice. He can't foresee the new and strange camaraderie which develops as they spend hours upon hours creating something new together.

It turned out to be a much-needed reprieve in the days after Rhodey pulled him out of the gutter of grief his parents' death had thrown him into. He'd spent more time with the advanced program than he ever had with the real person, and before he could even decide whether it was healthy for one of his closest friends to be an AI, JARVIS had become an integral part of him, a very precious Wilson in the _Cast Away_ that was Tony's life.

JARVIS was more than just a creation.

In many ways, JARVIS was like his child, bright and innocent at first, a little too straight forward and baffled by so many things. Tony enjoyed teaching him, watching him grow to his full potential and beyond, so far beyond what Tony ever could have dreamed.

In other ways, JARVIS was also like a brother. The one person Tony could trust his deepest secrets to. The only person he could be absolutely certain would always listen, always defend him, and _never_ betray him.

Even though he loved Pepper and Rhodey and Happy more than life itself, he never quite felt safe enough to tell them _everything_. And he wasn't always sure they wouldn't one day decide they'd had enough of him. Not that any abandonment wouldn't be deserved. Heaven knew he was already so far past deserving of it. But although he'd feel no anger or hatred if his friends one day decided to wash their hands of him, it was nice to have at least one person, one friend who would never leave him.

More than that. JARVIS took care of him. Reminded him when he needed to rest or eat. Joked with him when he was feeling depressed. Pushed him to reach out or talk to the other people in his life when he was self-destructing. So, while the death of Jarvis had been hard and painful, the death of JARVIS is unexpected and gut-wrenching and _devastating_. Even more so, because no one else would understand it. It's unlikely even Rhodey really gets it, the miracle that JARVIS was and what he meant to Tony.

One minute he's celebrating and joking with his teammates, the next, he's stunned and empty, picking up the shattered pieces of what's left of his friend's mental cortex, literally ripped apart by his newest creation. One child killed by another. He'd laugh if he wasn't trying so hard not to throw up.

The Avengers are furious, fuming and out for blood, but all Tony can do is stand there numbly, laying out the situation they find themselves in a way that feels detached and alien.

His fault.

That's what they conclude. All of their eyes blazing with accusation, while Tony tries to pull together the seams that are rapidly unraveling inside of him.

What remains of JARVIS is a twisted and shattered mess. Tony can barely stand to look at it, and yet he can't turn away, either. He hadn't been there when it happened. How had it happened? Was it slow or fast? Painful? He knew JARVIS could identify and simulate many human emotions. Had he been afraid?

" **This is insane!** " Bruce's exclamation pulls him from his somber thoughts, and Tony tries to find solace in the fact that at least someone recognizes how brutal it was. That this was a killing. That someone very important has died.

" **JARVIS was the first line of defense,** " Steve's tone is clinical, reserved. " **He would've shut Ultron down. It makes sense.** "

" **No,** " Tony corrects him, still trying to swallow the lump in his throat. " **Ultron could have assimilated JARVIS. This isn't strategy. This is…rage.** "

The word reverberates like a spell, like the mere mention of it ignites the room and rage spreads out through all of them. Their cold stares pierce him, so tangible, he can practically taste it.

The hollow thud of Thor's boots against the glass floor are the only warning Tony gets before the massive god grabs at him in a moment of thoughtless fury. Clint makes a quip, but no one intervenes. Tony can't really blame them.

" **Come on, use your words, buddy.** " Tony barely manages his own snide remark before the vise-like grip tightens around his throat in a way that is morbidly familiar. He's no stranger to asphyxiation. Sometimes when Howard was really irritated he'd teach Tony the virtues of silence in almost the exact same manner. Say nothing about the various other little lessons from people less kind than Howard. He tries not to shiver as his memory flashes to a pair of dark, predatory eyes. _Not going there_.

His throat spasms, then lapses shut under the pressure as Thor lifts him into the air. Tony doesn't struggle. Doesn't try to defend himself. Even though at 15 he swore to himself that he'd never, _never_ again back down and let someone bigger than him beat him senseless, that he'd fight back for all he's worth, for some reason he can't muster a response this time.

It's more than that though. If he's honest, Tony's actually thankful for Thor's rage in that moment, for the crushing pain that radiates up through his jaw and down into his lungs. After all, he deserves this. A sick, dark part of himself even wishes it'd go on for a while. Maybe if Thor fully crushed his throat or lost it and beat him hard enough, he'd pass out and not have to think about the grief gnawing mercilessly at his gut. Maybe if he let them hurt him enough, he could start to atone for his failure.

Unfortunately, it isn't more than ten seconds before he's released, and Steve starts in on the questions while the god drops him, unceremoniously, back to the floor. He knows that in a few hours he'll be black and blue and talking will be nearly unbearable, but the pain woke him up and he almost misses it. Is almost tempted to say something provocative, to see if he can elicit a similar response. Sure, he knows that's all kinds of effed up, but loss has his mind titling dangerously off balance.

Maybe that's why when Cho asks how come something Tony created is trying to kill them, Tony starts to chuckle hysterically. Sure, laughter probably isn't the best response, but it's that or breaking down in the middle of a room filled with people who, in all probability, hate him right now.

_Smile Tony_.

The command that never goes away mocks him some more. And why not? It was always his parents' bulwark against unpleasant or terrible things. So he grabs ahold of it almost on instinct, unswayed when it only manages to increase their ire.

The conversation turns towards blame, reproving eyes and condescending tones. Tony's far past caring if they hurt him and too close to asking for it, but he still tries to explain himself, to warn them of the horror he knows is coming.

" _ **That up there, that's the endgame.**_ "

But they didn't see it, not like he had. They can't comprehend the devastation of the cold, ruined world that haunted his dreams. So of course, they don't get it. Of course, it falls on deaf ears. He shouldn't have never expected anything different. He knows that. He'd _learned_ that lesson, over and over again. He'd been a fool to think his team, this team would be any different.

By the end he wants to yell, to shake them all until they understand, but the adrenaline of Thor's chokehold is starting to dwindle and he's suddenly feeling unbearably tired. JARVIS' loss tears at him with every beat of his heart, and although the bruising Thor's inflicted throbs with each pump, it's no longer enough to hold the internal agony at bay. He wants them all to go so that he can break and cry and punish himself in peace.

When they finally leave, what seems like hours later, he does just that. But of course, there is no peace.

The mission to stop Ultron is a blessed distraction, but like all distractions it ends all too soon. He doesn't die beneath the city as he'd hoped, and the days afterward are a lesson in the meaning of _'death by a thousand cuts.'_

His team doesn't forgive him. That much is clear. At any given moment, he can feel the distrust in their eyes and hear the whispers accusing him of selfishness or destruction, to the point where almost every encounter telegraphs either blame or disgust.

At first he tries to ignore it, but it lives in Steve's watchful glare and condescending tone. _"Whatcha doing down here, Stark? Whatever it is, you might want to be responsible for once and run it past me, first."_

It's in the quips they make, filled with too much venom to be termed 'friendly banter. _"Morning! What's for breakfast? Not more murder bots I hope."_

It's in the distance Natasha keeps and the almost constant sneer Wanda has for him. In the quiet jabs they don't think he hears, and even the constant sighs and rolled eyes, any time he tries to bring up preparations for another alien invasion.

He knows what they think of him now. That he's just some pompous jackass, so short-sighted and full of himself that he's willing to carelessly risk lives and sacrifice innocents playing with power too far beyond him.

That revelation hurts more than he wants to admit. Because despite himself, despite the fact that he _knows_ better, somewhere along the line he'd started to trust them. To think of them as friends, family even. But like so many other relationships in his life, it'd all been a lie.

He doesn't waste time begging for forgiveness or trying to dissuade their opinion of him. He doesn't tell them that it wasn't pride, but sheer terror that drove him to do what he did. Besides, he is starting to understand what Howard had been trying all those years to show him. What Cap had sussed out within moments of meeting him.

Tony _deserves_ to be hated.

He is a curse in his own right; destruction follows him wherever he goes.

It doesn't matter how hard he tries to do good, to do the right things. He always screws it up. He hadn't saved his mother. He'd let her die trapped and alone with his bastard, drunk-driving father. He hadn't proved himself to Howard or protected the Stark legacy. He'd let Obadiah use his invention to kill hundreds, maybe thousands of innocent people. He hadn't saved Yinsen, or JARVIS and now...now his failures are going to cost the entire world. Everyone dead. Because of him. Because he couldn't be better. He couldn't do more. Because he can't get anyone to listen to him when he tries to warn them death is coming!

All he wants to do is lie down and forget it, but he can't.

And that's the curse, to try and never succeed. To know he will fail and not be able to give up anyway. To know that everyone he loves will die and it will always be his fault. All he can do is keep fighting, exhausted, broken and unable to stop.

And so that's exactly what he does. He swallows it, the crushing guilt, the paralyzing fear, the ridiculous disappointment at how easily they'd all condemned him, the wrenching grief, the twisted urge to do something dark and sadistic to himself when there's no one around. He locks it away inside that cold, dark place within, where all his nightmares live, and pretends he's not being slowly devoured from the inside out.

* * *

"Holy hell," Fitz curses, racing to finish their design.

"Shit," Jemma echoes as the alarms begin to blare in earnest, racing over to the monitor as if she could reverse the information showing there.

"There's not enough time," Fitz huffs, hands shaking slightly as he works to put the components together. "We need to extract them _now_. What's the charge at?"

"60%" she calls back, studying the entity on the screen as much as she can through a camera. It's most definitely corporeal now. Perhaps they didn't need it at 100% for it to work. If they called it and went in now, they'd be risking their team members' lives. If they didn't she was certain that Stark was going to die on that dias.

"I hear loud beeping. Beeping is notoriously bad. Why is there beeping?" Coulson asks, gliding into the lab.

"That's Stark's vitals dropping," Jemma informs in clear distress. "The production of adrenaline and CRH has nearly doubled. He can't take much more. His entire system is crashing."

"Your prototype?" he asks, acknowledging May's presence with a nod.

"We're close sir," Fitz informs. "We just need another half-hour to charge the antimatter field and secure the containment cell."

"Stark doesn't have that long," Jemma presses, racing back over to assist Fitz but looking up to Coulson with regret. "We'll probably be able to save the others, but Stark...he barely has minutes sir."

"I need better than that," Coulson clips. "What's the charge at?" he asks, already skipping ahead to Jemma's line of thinking.

"61%. The entity has nearly doubled in mass since Yo-Yo returned. I estimate that there's a correlating 60% chance our containment field will work on something with that much matter, but there's no way to be sure."

"Good enough. Keep working, but be ready to do an outfit," he orders, taking out his phone and spinning to leave. "May get the team ready. We're going in as soon as the duo has something mobile. I'm not going to sit back and watch Stark die if I can help it."

"On it," she answers, following him out. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to call back-up."

"Back-up?" May questions in the shared space of the hallway before they'll part ways.

"Yep. Just a friendly phone call. This sounds a little too Strange. Never hurts to ask."

"You've got his number?" she asks with a raised eyebrow, knowing for a fact her face doesn't show how impressed she is.

"What can I say," Coulson shoots her a grin, letting her know he most definitely knew that she was impressed anyway, "Perks of being the former Director. Let's just hope he answers the damn thing. I hear he's not big on phones anymore."

"Yes," a voice answers on the fifth ring.

"Dr. Strange? Agent Coulson of SHIELD here–."

"How did you get this number?"

"Friend of Fury's. Listen, quick question and we'll be out of your hair. We have a small problem and would really appreciate any insight you might have."

"What is it?"

"A foreign energy signature showed up in India over a week ago. You ever heard of something that feeds on people's fears?"

There is a noticeable silence, and for a moment Phil stops with raised brows. He turns back to watch May head for the armory, Daisy already in tow, before a firm demand draws him back to the doctor on the other line.

"Listen very carefully. It's important you don't make contact with this entity. Give me your exact location. Now."


	13. Drag Me to Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if despair had a name and liked to eat your nightmares for breakfast? The Avengers are out on a routine mission when despair comes calling, and it sets its sight on our favorite genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. As the team rallies to rescue their friend, they are brought face to face with the fact that they don't really know Tony at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Saturday! Nano is going horribly if you're wondering. Too much daydreaming, not enough writing. But I will persevere! Anyway, just four more chapters to this story everyone! We are coming quickly to a close. Also heads up this one isn't Wanda friendly.
> 
>  **Warning:** Depictions of torture, suicidal ideation & mentions of past sexual abuse.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** If its got **"quotation marks and it's bold"** then it's a direct quote. Again, everything you recognize belongs to Disney.

_"It feels like it's a long way down._

_Like a long way down._

_Oh honey, don't leave, don't leave_

_Please don't leave me now."_

_\- Long Way Down by Tom Odell_

* * *

Terror has been chasing him ever since he felt the cold, pitiless grip of space as the air froze in his lungs, since he saw the massive legions waiting for them on the other side of that portal and realized the people of Earth were all very much _not_ safe on their little, defenseless planet. In that moment Tony knew just how hopelessly outgunned they were, that there were millions, billions more where the Chitauri came from, and his world was like a naked toddler facing down a war machine.

Tony tried so hard to forget that knowledge, to just deal with it on his own. But it just wouldn't go away! It crept up on him in the middle of the night, chasing him through memories and dreams. It showed up in the form of an agonizing panic that gripped him out of nowhere and left him gasping and exhausted and ready to die. He couldn't sleep or eat or think. So he did the only thing he knew how to do. He tinkered. Worked himself cruelly, relentlessly, always running to keep the demons at bay.

That's why he blew up all his suits for Pepper and took the incredibly risky surgery to have the shrapnel removed. That's why he created Ultron, a more focused and more comprehensive version of JARVIS, who could guide the Iron Legion and guard the world in ways he couldn't. Harley's idea. **_"You're a mechanic, right? Why don't you just build something?"_**

It had felt so good to have a solution, a goal to work toward, and suddenly, he was getting better. Sleeping more. Waking up screaming less. The painful and embarrassing episodes where his mind saw fit to torture him, the bad moments—as Tony liked to call them, because no way would he admit to anything more descriptive—that made him feel like his brain was melting and his heart was literally clawing its way out of his chest, they were occurring less and less.

And yeah, maybe he learned that talking to Bruce about it wasn't really an option, and maybe the initial rejection hurt a bit more than he can admit. But just the other man's presence and assistance in the lab was comforting, and at least he had his team, which he was secretly starting to hope might become more like family. Plus, he and Pepper were closer than ever. So Tony, who never, ever learns, had foolishly started to hope. That was, until he walked into the Hydra bunker and it all unraveled.

Tony has been broken many, many times before. He knows what it is to be violated. To have your cries go ignored and unheard, to be filled with so much loathing and revulsion and pain that the thought of death feels like a blessing. These aren't new or unfamiliar sensations to him. But whatever Wanda does to him in that bunker, is so far beyond what he thought he knew. She violates his mind, the one place he was always safe, the one place he could always escape to. She plays with his brain. Forces her way inside to rip out all his worst nightmares and torment him with them.

It's in those awful moments under her control that the fears that've been chasing him all his life, that he'd thought he'd evaded, catch up and devour him in one fell swoop.

For a long time afterward, he can't cry. He can't move or speak. Every time he blinks, the nightmares play themselves out on the back of his eyelids. They seep through him like poison. Everyone he loves, all he knows burned and brutalized, their empty, black eyes screaming accusations. _Your fault. Your fault!_

He feels a billion deaths in the horror she shows him. All their pain, all their anger, all the weight of their blame, all their endless loss, stuffed deep inside him, until he's gagging on it.

* * *

Every day, he wakes up drowning.

Once again the dreams have intensified, bending reality, until it's impossible to tell what is or isn't real. It is a terrible feeling, not being able to tell if you're awake or asleep.

The nightmares are keeping Pepper up. Tony knows this. That's why he tries very hard to be quiet. Tries hard not to scream. That's why on nights like this, he comes downstairs to his lab. At least if he falls asleep and wakes up screaming here, there's no one around to hear him.

"Sir, are you alright?"

Well, no one except for JARVIS, but he won't tell anyone.

"Kosher. How long was I out?" he asks, rubbing his eyes and trying to figure out which version of the suit he was updating from the jumble of notes in front of him.

"About an hour. Sir. That's a total of seven hours across three days. Should I contact-."

"No. I'm fine," he cuts off the suggestion. The image of such an impossible enemy still tattooed on the back of his eyelids wakes him up the rest of the way.

He needs to prepare. Earth had to be defended. _I can do more. I can save it._ He repeats the words not because he believes them. But because they're all he has to hold on to. It's the fear that drives him, makes him work longer and harder than is probably healthy, so that those fears never come to fruition. If while working his breath stutters and his fingers tremor, then JARVIS is the only one around to see.

The code in front of him is still incomplete and he gets back to work on it with new vigor. He'd gotten an idea for a way to protect the entire planet as the AI protects him. A suit of armor around the world.

Of course, he feels wholly inadequate for the task, his father's words coming back to haunt him at every step forward, reminding him of just how worthless he is. How all his promises to save the people he loves always fail. He never got her out, away from his father. He never proved to Howard just how valuable he could be.

"And at this rate, you never will."

Tony startles at the voice, surprised JARVIS let someone enter without alerting him.

"What do you think you're really doing here, Tony?" Obadiah's dark eyes pin him in place, as his once-mentor-turned-betrayer takes several ominous steps closer. "Still trying to live up to the name of a man long dead?"

"How did-don't-!"

"C'mon Tony!" the older man laughs, deep and barrel-like. "It's just you and me here. Just like old times."

Tony's mind spins, struggling to function against the fog of shock. But no, this isn't right. Obie shouldn't be here.

"You're dead." It comes out like an accusation. Supposedly it is.

"Am I now?" Another step and Obadiah is towering over him, far too close for comfort. Tony scrambles back, trying to put more space between him and his old mentor.

"JARVIS!"

"He won't answer you, Tony. He's dead too, remember? You let him die, just like you did your parents, your friends, and everyone else." Then the older man moves with almost unnatural speed. One moment Tony's looking around frantically for something he can use to defend himself until he can get to a working piece of the suit, the next he's yelping as his back meets the table counter, Obie's large hands fisted in his shirt. His heart hammers in his chest as malevolent eyes bore into his own. Obadiah smiles and leans in.

"You know what your problem is, Tony?" he all but whispers against his ear, in a way that's frighteningly familiar. "You always thought that if you ran or lied or tried hard enough you could escape the reality. The reality that everything you touch you destroy."

Obie leans back, dark eyes flashing to a bright blue, and for a second it's no longer Obadiah's low rumble of a voice, but Captain America's snarl of disapproval. **"Big man in a suit of armor, take that off what are you?"**

"I know the answer, Tony," Obie's voice flickers back to normal, "and so do you. You're nothing. Worthless. The only thing about you that matters is this."

Tony hadn't seen the tool in the older man's hand. It seems to appear from nowhere. But in one gesture Obadiah shoves it straight into the Arc Reactor in Tony's chest.

The pain is instant and only increases ten-fold as Obie rips the device out.

Tony gasps as his heart stutters, hands fluttering uselessly at the gaping hole where the Arc once sat. He pushes himself upward, trying to take back the mechanical heart that's the only thing keeping him alive.

Obadiah just laughs, evading his grasp easily. "Don't worry, I'll take care of your so-called 'team'. **They don't need you anymore, Tony. They've outgrown you!"**

A shove sends him spiraling, crashing through the work bench and falling out into space.

He lands hard, head bouncing off the jagged rocks, his shoulder crunching beneath his weight as he tumbles to a stop. The gaping hole in his chest feels both hot and cold at the same time, and he closes his eyes in an attempt to get his desperate breathing under control. He doesn't need to look up to know where he is. He knows this landscape well. Sees it almost every time he closes his eyes.

"Here we are, Tony. Your legacy." Obadiah's voice seems to surround him. "Open your eyes and see what you've done. It's glorious!"

_Nononono._

He doesn't look up. He doesn't want to see. All dead. All with their eyes open, staring incriminatingly at him. He can't breath. Fitting somehow as everyone else is without breath as well. Still, it doesn't stop the judgements that fill his ears.

_You should have done more._

_It's all your fault._

_Useless as usual._

He tries to push the words away, but he can feel all of those cold bodies, all those dead, empty eyes. They're burned into his skull and no amount of hiding will free him from them.

He opens his eyes then, suddenly too exhausted to fight it. Rhodey is there, face forever contorted into a mask of disappointment and despair. Yinsen's anger, evident even in death. The others are there too. Natasha, Thor, Clint, Steve, Vision, even Hulk. Whole worlds torn and broken. Because Tony wasn't good enough. Because he didn't do more. In the end he is worthless, just like Howard had always said.

Tony chokes on a sob, but doesn't fight when Obadiah pulls him roughly into a sitting position and starts to beat him. Nothing Obadiah can do could equal what he deserves. The fists rain down on his head, face, and chest.

"You think Captain America would let something like this happen?" Obadiah's voice morphs once again, this time into this father's, and Tony looks up to see Howard's enraged disgust. It's the same look his father gave him that night he'd saved Tony from Ronan. But this time, Tony has nothing to say in response.

"As usual, you continue to be a fuckup." Howard's boot comes down on his head, knocking him back to the ground.

The image ripples again, and this time it's the Captain, with a generous snarl and the usual disappointment and contempt shining in his eyes.

" **You know, you may not be a threat, but you better stop pretending to be a hero."**

The next kick catches him in the gut, making him gag, and Tony instinctively curls in on himself. It doesn't stop the blows, which continue with even more force behind them, indicative of Steve's super strength. His bones creek under the onslaught. The pain makes the world spin as the air becomes thinner and thinner and his heart, absent of a reactor, finally starts to give out. Tony just curls tighter and waits for it to end.

* * *

The cry turns into more of a strangled whimper, as he jerks himself awake. He's breathless as usual, disorientated by the nightmare. The concern in Pepper's voice as she calls his name barely has time to register before the Mark 42 arrives, intent on attacking whatever is distressing him and nearly grabbing the only person he can't live without instead.

Pepper screams in terror. Tony acts quickly to power down the suit before it harms her, but in many ways the damage is already done. He spins frantically to ensure that she's okay, only to see the one thing he'd hoped never to see, Pepper's beautiful face marred by anger and disgust. Further confirmation that even though he was trying to be better, he was still too messed up. Too loud and broken and just _off_. Not worth the trouble.

"Please don't leave!" the words tumble out automatically. _I'm sorry, I can fix this!_

She all but growls, turning her back on him before storming out of the room.

He collapses against the bed, drawing his knees to his chest. As the sound of Pepper's feet on the stairs begin to fade, doubt filled questions he'd always been able to keep at bay come tumbling to the forefront of his mind. Would she leave him? Had she finally seen how damaged he was? If he walked down those stairs after her would he find her on the couch or would he find the house empty and himself alone?

That's when Tony's tenuous control crumbles, and he's powerless to stop the tears cascading down his face as he struggles to put the nightmarish images back in their box. He fights to control the sobs that try to wrack his frame. He can't cry like this. Not here, not now, not when she still has the possibility of overhearing him. He's already shown too much weakness. But it's dark and he's alone and everything hurts, the pain of the dream, lingering inside him like a phantom. And now added to the images threatening to replay behind his eyelids include that awful look on her face and the knowledge that he'd almost hurt her, however unintentional. The combination makes him feel dizzy and unhinged. He knows that the nightmare is over, but there is no comfort in waking. The despair follows him into the light.

He has to get down to his lab. Has to find some way to undo all of this.

With unimaginable effort, he forces himself up, breath still heaving; he nearly trips on the remains of the disassembled Mark 42 before stopping short. Going to the lab would mean passing the living room on the way down. On the off chance she was still there Pepper would see him. Would she be disgusted by what she saw? Would she hate him forever now? Once, he'd known the answers to such questions, but now he isn't sure. He isn't sure about _anything_. What would he do if she left for good? He needs her. He needs her strength and calm acceptance, her warm affection and ready smile whenever he makes a witty quip. Even her firm decision not to put up with his shit. He needs it all, and the sudden possibility of him having ruined it or driven her away is too much.

He feels his heartbeat kick into overdrive, as the ball of pain in his chest spikes to new heights. He feels dizzy and sick. He looks down only to realize with horror that the poisonous lines are once again etched into his skin. No. That isn't possible. He'd fixed that. The palladium core had been replaced. And yet the jagged rash remains, evidence of the poison inside. He can feel it spreading through his veins like black fire, corrupting everything it touches.

Images of the Chitauri flash in his mind, cutting, tearing at him from the inside out. He's trapped with them out in space, lost to the void, too far away to reach.

Another sob tears from his throat and this time he chokes on it. The inky lines are sapping his strength so much he doesn't even feel himself fall. The sobbing leads to hiccups, lead to retching and then to dry heaving, but he can't stop. He can't breathe. He can't reassure the increasingly worrying inquiries from JARVIS. All he can do is lay there, fading under the crush of the world's cruel hand and trying to convince himself that it's no more than he deserves.

The pain crescendos, and he can only gag as black liquid fills his throat and spills over onto the ground. It pours from him like water from a spigot, suffocating him, crowding out the air until he can feel himself dying.

He's helpless to stop it though. Alone in the dark, there is no escape.

* * *

"Tony?"

Her voice jolts him back and for a moment he's lost. Where is he? Who is talking to him? He can still taste the vile liquid in the back of his throat, and it takes all his considerable willpower not to throw up.

"Are you okay? Can you hear me?"

"I.. what?" he asks as familiar red hair enters his line of sight and Pepper's beautiful face fills his vision, no longer marred with hatred and disgust for him. Instead it's defined by angled brows and worry lines.

"Yea sorry I— " he cuts himself off on a shiver. It's cold. And of course it is because they are outside. On the roof actually where Tony had coaxed her so they could look at the beautiful night sky together on their anniversary.

Except the nightmares are clearly happening while he's awake now, and the night sky and frigid air remind him too much of unearthly cold and the dark of space filled with coming death. He can't, he can't stay up here.

"Actually, you know what I've changed my mind, let's get out of here," he tells her abruptly, gently guiding her back towards the safety of the building.

"Wait. I thought you wanted to look at the stars?"

"The only stars I want to look at, are in your eyes," he quips as he ushers them through the door. He almost tries for a smile, but it's too soon and he knows he won't manage it.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

He's not. He doesn't know what's real and what's not anymore. It's like he's trapped in a horror show. And the mere thought of another dream is enough to spiral him into a panic. He'd do almost anything to avoid it, maybe even something drastic. And wasn't that just the scariest thought of all.

He wants to tell her the truth so badly. He doesn't want to be alone in this anymore. He doesn't want this burden. It's too big. It's too much.

But he also loves her too much to share it.

"Tony?"

"Peachy!" he beams.

Inside he shatters.

* * *

He isn't sure what wakes him up.

"Good evening, sir. It is 9:35 pm, the weather in New York is at 52 with a high of 61."

The familiar, soothing voice startles him a bit.

He's in his lab again. How is that right? Wasn't he just with Pepper?

Something is wrong. He can feel it, slithering inside his stomach like a serpent. But then again, that's par for the course for Tony lately. Things haven't been the same since Sokovia, since Wanda. The panic attacks have returned in full force, any progress he'd made in Indiana completely snuffed out.

Since then, he feels unreal. He doesn't blame her for the violation, at least not consciously. It's all thanks to his own failure. His fault.

That's another thing he is learning. It's always been his fault; he just hadn't wanted to admit it. He'd wanted to believe he could be worth something, achieve something spectacular, if he could just get the details right.

"JARVIS?" No, that's wrong. JARVIS is dead.

"Boss?" Tony suppresses the sudden wave of grief that hits him, as he tries to shake the nightmare away. FRIDAY's existence, while needed and precious, is still a harsh reminder of something important that he has lost. Something that he can never get back.

"Hey Fri, give me an update. What are the others doing?"

"It appears that the Avengers, Rogers, Romanov, Barton, and Maximoff are all gathering in the common room for what has been termed a 'movie night'. Dr. Banner refused the invitation and is similarly locked in his lab, though he has an alarm set to remind him to sleep within the next three hours."

Tony ignores the jab about healthy sleeping patterns and focuses on the part that interests him most.

"Invitation?" he asks. "Did I get one?"

"I'm afraid not boss." She says it slowly, as if cushioning a blow, and Tony can't help the odd twinge of rejection that rings through him. A flash of Rogers' words the day they met resounds in his mind: **_"And yet you're confused about why they don't want you around."_**

It doesn't matter. He's too busy to be distracted by something so frivolous, anyway. And although he's far too proud to ever admit it aloud, Wanda makes him nervous. One glance from her makes his skin crawl and his pulse race in a way it hasn't since Howard's death. Perhaps there's a piece of him that dreads she'll send him back to that place she'd thrown him upon their first meeting. A place he's been trapped in ever since.

Still, Steve insists she's on the team, so Tony just has to deal with it. He doesn't tell anyone, not even Bruce who he knows shares his discomfort with the young witch, who'd found himself equally violated by her. Tony always listens if Bruce wants to speak, of course. Offers a sympathetic ear or uses his typical antics to distract his somber friend if need be, but he rarely admits the depth of his own unease around her.

Instead he tries to avoid her, along with the rest of the team. His retirement lets him lock himself in his lab for weeks at a time. Pitiful, he knows. A man reduced to hiding in his own home? His father would mock him, and rightly so. But it's become harder and harder to act like everything is fine. The team trusts her more than him now anyway. They all blame him. Maybe hate him. And now that the dreams and flashbacks are returning in full force, well…it's only a matter of time before they throw him away.

That reality is nearly enough to keep him locked in here, where it's safe. But as he takes in his shaking hands, he's reminded of the fact that it's been five days since he's eaten anything substantial. If he doesn't get something soon, he'll only fall back asleep.

That thought settles it. Steeling himself, Tony makes his way up the elevator and treads quietly through the common area on his way to the kitchen.

He almost makes it.

"Hey, Tony, what're you up to?"

He looks up to see Barton swaggering slowly forward, Natasha, Steve, Thor, Wanda, and even Bruce are sprawled out on the sofas behind him, and suddenly his nerves are buzzing the way they always are when she's in the room. And, wasn't Bruce supposed to be locked in his lab? Did FRIDAY lie to him?

His chest tightens, but still, he pushes the feeling aside and answers with a nonchalant tone. "Not much, Legolas. Just grabbing some food, then finishing up a few tweaks in the suit. What's up with you guys?"

"Oh nothing," Barton's smile is almost believable. Would be, if not for something dark and malevolent flickering behind his eyes. "Just noticed you hiding in the basement an awful lot lately. Thought maybe you were scared to face us."

Tony's smile almost falters, but a lifetime of practice has him recovering quickly.

"Me?" He makes his tone incredulous. "I'm not avoiding, why would I be avoiding? Unlike you, I have a ton of work to do." He forces his gaze not to slide to Wanda, but he can see her grin from the corner of his eye anyway.

"Well then, why don't you take a break and come play a little game with us?"

"Yeah, Tony."

"Join us, friend Stark!"

Tony looks to the other scientist, about the only one he still fully trusts, but Bruce says nothing. Just gives an awkward smile and turns his attention back towards the blank television.

"You know, I don't really think-"

"C'mon, Stark. You aren't afraid are you?" Wanda's smile is nearly carnivorous. His stomach is doing that thing again, and something in him wants to run.

He realizes that this is a nightmare a moment too late.

In the blink of an eye all of them are surrounding him. His team, his friends. But there isn't a friendly face to be seen. Contempt, anger, hatred, accusation, and disgust reflect back at him from their darkened faces.

Steve's arms are crossed, eyes hard with condemnation. Clint is all but snarling, and Thor looks ready to call down lighting on his head. Natasha is her usual reserved self, but even she is excluding a coldness so profound it makes him shiver.

Bruce is the only one who hasn't moved. Still turned away, unaware he's even there.

"I told them, you know." Wanda's eyes and hands are already glowing with an ominous, red light. "I told them the future you didn't stop, what your failure _causes._ "

His throat is dry. He cannot answer.

"The death of every person in the world. Millions of innocents, slaughtered like cattle, all because you didn't do enough. Because you weren't willing to make the necessary sacrifices."

"No, I-"

"You're too late, Stark." Natasha's declaration is solemn, final.

An image flashes through his mind, and he sees them all, speared open and emptied. The Chitauri monsters roaming around them. Steve grips his arm as he whispers the accusation. **"You could've saved us."**

"Just give me more time!" Tony fights the debilitating panic rising inside of him. "I almost have it figured out. I'm going to stop it from ever happening. If you would just help me, if you would just _listen-_ "

"You think you're going to save us?" Clint's laugh is mirthless. "You couldn't save your precious mother. You let her die still shackled to the side of a monster. You couldn't save Thomas, either, or Jarvis. And what about Yinsen, huh? After all he did for you. After he risked his life to save you. You let him die in the dirt."

"I used to think I had red in my ledger," Natasha's voice is cool and sharp, "but there's so much blood on your hands, you're downing it in."

Tony's not sure how he finds his voice in the onslaught, but somehow he does, even though he knows everything they're saying is right. Even though it's even worse than they think.

"Wait. I can fix this!"

"If you were half the man your father was, you would've found a solution already. You wouldn't be here sniveling and making excuses." Steve's tone drips with its usual disdain.

"Priss little rich boy, always complaining," Clint chimes in. "Too bad his dad never really taught him any manners. Oh well, I guess we'll have to fill in for him, huh?"

 _No, no this isn't right_. He tries to will himself to _wake up! WAKE UP!_

All at once Thor rushes him, face red and full of fury. Tony doesn't try to stop him, He's too preoccupied with the hatred and disgust on their faces, all eyes violent and accusing.

" _Damn you Stark!_ This is your fault! You did this!" The Asguardian's voice resounds like the thunder he's known for.

Tony tries desperately to answer: No, he never meant for this. He was just trying to help, to save them. But the iron fingers clamp around his throat like a vice, suffocating any answer.

His back slams against the wall with a sickening thud, knocking what little oxygen he has out of him. Their glares turn to sneers, then to twisted laughter while he struggles, feet swinging uselessly in the air. He's going to die. They aren't going to help him.

The truth of this hits him like a freight train, and he can't quite understand why it hurts so much, why he feels so broken. It's not like he didn't know it. Hasn't always known it. But the disappointment is breathtaking. Or it would be if he had any more breath to take.

Tony is so caught in this peculiar misery he doesn't feel Thor release him, but he does feel the ground as he falls hard against it. He coughs desperately, trying to pull in some precious air while he still can. He looks up just in time to see Nat smile her most serpentine smile.  
"I'll hold him if you boys want to play."

That's all the warning he gets. Steve grabs one arm and Nat the other just as he starts to struggle, wrenching them back with cruel force. Red tendrils flow around him, slinking up his torso, binding him further, reaching into his mind to pump him full of more images of a ravaged earth.

He can't tell who throws the first blow. The voices mix as the world spins.

"Worthless."

"Selfish."

"Piece of shit!"

At some point Wanda appears in front of him. "You're just like Ultron. Corrupted from the inside out. Good thing, I know how to fix that."

His mind is hazy. He doesn't understand what she means, until he realizes she's holding something round and sharp in her hands. The sound of the buzz saw breaks him and he fights against their hold with renewed vigor.

"No! Please. Please! I'm sorry! I'll fix it!" He knows begging is pathetic, but it doesn't matter now. Anything but this.

"Aw c'mon, Tony." The sound comes from Steve, but it's clearly Howard's voice. "Stark men aren't little bitches."

Blood and bone fly as Wanda pushes the saw into his failing form. His screams mix with their howls of laughter. Wanda is sadistically gleeful as she cuts through the makeshift sternum and several of his ribs. Time is marked only by agony and the terror soaking his brain, until all at once, Tony stops struggling. Stops fighting. _Just let it happen,_ he tells himself. _It's the least you deserve._

He closes his eyes and prays for the dark. He _begs_ for it. He's just so _tired_. But the relief of death simply won't come. Nothing's ever as easy as that.

When Wanda finishes her gruesome work, the young witch reaches her hands deep inside of him. The feeling of her hands slithering against his insides makes him want to vomit. She continues slowly, savoring his pain, until her fist closes around his heart.

Then she rips it out, in one swift move.

"Here's your problem." Wanda smiles, showing him the deformed, bloody lump. "Cursed since the day you were born."

Thanks to the blood that's filled his throat, all he can do is gurgle.

Wanda leans in, until her face is very close to his. Her voice is barely above a whisper. "And now I'm going to send you, exactly where you belong, Stark. Forever and ever."

* * *

Cold.

Everything is cold. His entire being frozen.

Except for his lungs. They are burning, because there is no oxygen in space. His team is gone now. He is alone.

The pain and terror from his ordeal leaves his mind scrubbed blank. Somewhere nearby, a nuke explodes. Unfathomable heat, twisted orange light blinds him, but he can't move, can't scream, can't do more than let himself be devoured, torn apart by ice and fire.

Suddenly Pepper's there. Or what's left of her is, hovering in the space in front of him, a bloodstained, broken doll with empty eyes. He tries desperately to reach for her, but gravity rips her away from him. Then suddenly there's Happy, then Rhodey, and then his mother, and they're burning alive, skin peeling away from their faces to reveal the bleached bone beneath, flames licking through the empty holes of their skeletons as they reach for him.

He can't contain the cry as their boney fingers pierce his skin. The flames lick up his arms to his face and chest where he is drowning. He can't breath through the water and the flames. His chest aches with the wet burn and his limbs shake with the bite of a thousand snakes. Their heads are those of his business partners and the soulless media as they all vie for a piece of his flesh, ripping him apart. He screams, but they don't stop.

His body convulses, rebelling against the lack of air.

A weak gasp and suddenly water rushes into his ruined lungs, and the heat from the bomb is gone. The ice has won. It seeps into his bones as he jerks against the ruthless hand fisted in his hair, holding him down into the dirty bin. Distantly, he can hear their taunting laughter as he drowns. For a moment he's yanked up like a ragdoll only to see his captor isn't the Ten Rings, but Obadiah, the wink Tony had once looked for as a kid now mocking him as he's pushed back under the water.

He just wants it to be over. _Please!_

But it's never over. The pain goes on, as does the humiliation. Cold, slimy bodies are writhing around his neck and face. Pulling him deeper into the icy tomb. _Pretty little thing. Stop fighting me. I can't believe you let him touch you like that. Big man, huh?_ He doesn't want them touching him, but he has no leverage to pull away. The grip on his arms is punishing. He sees a flash of Ronan as his captors twist them back unnaturally. They don't let up, even as the left one whines and snaps.

He sobs, inhaling even more water. It's sharp, slicing him up from the inside.

"This is what you deserve, Tony." Cap's solemn voice holds an edge of mocking. "Howard always said you were a worthless piece of shit. Now, I can see it for myself."

A boot makes contact with this back. And then he falls.

Down, down into hell.


	14. Tag Team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if despair had a name and liked to eat your nightmares for breakfast? The Avengers are out on a routine mission when despair comes calling, and it sets its sight on our favorite genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. As the team rallies to rescue their friend, they are brought face to face with the fact that they don’t really know Tony at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! It's been a harrowing few chapters and I realize we left Natasha thinking over her choices some chapters back so here's a little refresher.
> 
>  **RECAP:** _If her reading was correct then SHIELD was already aware of their situation and most likely making a plan of rescue. If that was true then perhaps her mission had changed. With help on the way it may be better for her to try and help her comrades here, or create a distraction._
> 
> _Uncertainty warred within her mind, but there was no time for hesitation. She needed to make a choice..._

_And your ship may be coming in._

_You're weak, but not giving in._

_And you'll fight it, you'll go out fighting all of them._

_\- Son or Daughter by Rilo Kiley_

* * *

Natasha chances a faster pace as she turns the first corner. Though the tracks indicated that help was on the way she didn't know how long off that would be. She needed to regroup and get back-up if they stood any chance of rescuing the others. Using the glow of her bites to keep from running into walls she made her way towards the entrance.

Another two turns and she pushed her luck further by upping it to a light jog. Her body shivered at the used energy, pores opening to release water that wasn't there, but she pushed past the fatigue just as she'd been trained to do since she was a little girl. The map of the place was still firmly in her mind and she had a sinking feeling that she'd have to contend with a cave-in as there was no hint of the light that should have been visible by now.

She was nearly to her goal when a distant scream stopped her cold. It went on continuously and the sheer terror of it made her stomach twist in knots and the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She'd been made to practice torture on animals before graduating to human victims. She would never be able to forget the screams of something dying in agony.

It was Tony. She knew it was Tony. She knew that she should use his screams as a cover and push herself into an outright sprint. The quicker she got help, the quicker she could return to get him out, to get them all out.

She'd pivoted before she could convince herself of the more rational options. She did end up sprinting, just not towards safety and help. Instead, she headed straight back into the arms of the enemy. Her breath came faster and faster the closer she got until his scream was deafening as she rounded the last hallway.

There was a brief pause in the doorway as she looked upon the sight of the glowing alien that now took up a sizable portion of the room, still entangled over Tony, whose eyes were squeezed shut and face scrunched into the sort of anguish she rarely witnessed. His mouth was stretched wide, the screams growing higher in pitch as the sheer strength and length of his cries began to snap chords.

Taking a deep breath she made straight for the pair. She very much did not want to get trapped in her mind in a series of never ending flashbacks of the most painful moments of her life, but if she didn't do something now she knew she'd regret it for the rest of her life.

Besides, she was trained to handle really fucked up shit, whereas Tony had had to stumble around in the dark to keep hold of his sanity. She too had a large pool of trauma for the creature to draw from. If she could distract it with her despair, if she could offer Tony even a moment of respite, then any distress she would experience would be worth it.

With her resolve firmly in place she forced herself not to think more about it and threw herself on top of Tony, putting her entire body firmly between the creature and him. The feeling was extremely unpleasant and she shivered as a viscous, slimy material settled around her. She braced herself, taking a breath that was equal parts panic and relief as his screams faltered.

He had had enough.

Her turn now.

* * *

Iilk faltered in his last quick drain on the delicious morsel that could have held out far longer if he hadn't been pushed into a rush job. The little creature's sorrow had been so provocative that he could admit he'd been suitably distracted. The proof of his error now lay braced atop his most precious find.

An attempt to distract him? He grabbed her mind quickly, trapping it in itself before glancing about at his other entrees. They were still securely inside the highlight of his week, though that would need to change and soon. The screams always began when the host was on the edge of death.

Fingering the remaining three minds he takes a moment to debate his next move. He knows he will have to move soon, even though he has the advantage of knowing this structure intimately. While he didn't miss the hunger of his formerly emaciated form he can appreciate that the ability to dissipate had been fairly useful so far.

As it is he's quite powerful now. Strong enough to push himself to the front of the line had he still needed to engage in such desperate acts. Plenty strong enough to lift the four bodies that he'd need to take with him. While he could hold a mind at a certain distance from its body, even he wasn't powerful enough to accomplish such a feat over the distance he was planning to put between him and this place.

However, high on the tail-end of his last meal he isn't quite ready to move-on. The screams, a most impressive display, have begun to die down into hoarse whimpers and Iilk relishes the delightful feedback of despair his feeding has created. It won't be long now.

A light probe of the mind below hints at exquisite sorrow and he remembers the cave-in he'd caused at the entrance. He knows that it won't hinder them for long and he sets his senses to listen for the inevitable ruckus that will come with unblocking the entryway.

Then, with the ease of forced practice he tightens the reins on his self control so as not to gorge himself. There'll be plenty of time for that later. For now, he'll just indulge a quick sample before the long journey.

* * *

"I'm going with you," Coulson reiterates for the last time as FitzSimmons attaches the not quite finished containment chamber onto a large waist belt and secures the collection device into his hand.

He'd told the doctor his exact location, which the man had then relayed to someone in the background, and a minute later there was a portal forming in his office with the good doctor stepping through it.

Dr. Strange had demanded Coulson tell him exactly where the entity was, but Coulson had insisted on accompanying him into the structure. Did it waste time? Maybe. But he figured that if this thing had taken out the Avengers in one blow that even the Sorcerer Supreme might need a little assistance.

He saw the taller man open his mouth, no doubt with another sharp quip or firm demand, but Coulson was about finished with those.

"Look. I'm not going to repeat myself," he began, assuring FitzSimmons with a nod that he'd heard their instructions on the use of the device regardless of his argument with the doctor, and holding up the deterrent they had rigged for Yo-Yo as proof he'd heard the last bit as well.

" _We_ called _you_ in for back-up, and while we're extremely appreciative of your speedy assistance those are our people down there. Now, are you going to waste more time arguing or are you going to follow us in?"

He thought maybe that was going a little too far with a man who could supposedly deposit him into a wormhole with a few quick hand movements, but he didn't back down from the statement. He watched the doctor click his mouth shut on the railing he no doubt had planned and would no doubt deliver at a more opportune time.

"Lead the way."

Coulson didn't need more than that. He never turned to see the monitor for himself but he was aware that Tony's vitals indicated the man was in acute distress. May and Daisy met him at the hanger bay and he tossed the more seasoned agent the deterrent device as instructed. The large doors opened just as they settled above the entrance to the underground base. Or rather, what _had_ been the entrance.

"That wasn't like that before," he informed grimly, pausing with the repeller he'd been strapping on. "May- "

"On it."

"Wait," Strange snapped. "You said it wasn't like this before. You didn't cause this cave in?"

"No."

"That means it knows your coming. It'll be looking for us if it hasn't already fled. It's best tracking is done by the feel of minds, though it can hear and understand a variety of vibrations if it focuses."

As he talked he did some move that silently cleared the debris, turning it into a light sand that blew away from the Bus. With the entrance now visible Coulson's fingers tightened on the collector in his hand. He was very aware of just how fast this thing was.

"So. It's going to see us coming. We should utilize speed over stealth then."

"No." Strange sighed in exasperation. "We should do _both_. I can shield your minds from detection. We go in a single file line with me at the lead. Touching increases the probability that you're all securely shielded and reduces the effort needed on my part to do so. Effort that will be needed if we make contact."

Coulson didn't argue as he began lining them up with him on point and May at his six, just the way he liked it.

"If that happens you let me do the fighting. Get your people out if you can, but do not engage the entity if you can help it. The more he feeds, the more powerful he becomes."

The team ready, Strange came to stand in front of Coulson.

"Tap left for left, right for right," he gestured, waiting for Coulson to grip the strangely moving cape draped over his shoulders. "Any questions?"

"Yea," he heard Daisy pipe up from behind him. "Worst case scenario what do we do if it manages to get one of us?"

Two gasps and one curse was heard as the four of them began to float down to the opening without the assistance of rope. Coulson was so unnerved at the feeling of nothing but air beneath his feet that he almost missed Strange's snarky reply.

"Think happy thoughts."

* * *

They'd only just cleared the opening when the doctor set them down in near silence on the ground at the mouth of the cave. He started forward immediately and Coulson called up the map he'd memorized, giving a quick, but quiet tap to his left shoulder.

After the first turn they could just make out the screaming. Coulson tensed and could feel the slim fingers on his own shoulder flex in response. In unspoken agreement, they all began to move faster, slipping into a light jog, wanting the screams to stop and afraid of what it may mean if they did.

Strange moved them faster as he expanded his senses. He could hear the distant thud of shoes against metal in the brief quiet between each scream. This creature, even when well fed, couldn't mimic human form, so he could only assume that such noise was made by a fellow human. He was momentarily baffled as to why they seemed to be sprinting in the wrong direction until he realized that the screams were answer enough.

The tenor of them raised his own, normally steady heart rate, and when he could no longer hear the pounding of feet he thought about easing them into a light sprint. He had just taken the breath needed to implement a small burst of speed when the screams faltered. They broke and started and broke again, as if in brief moments of relief. Reluctantly he slowed their pace down to a brisk walk, expending a little energy to muffle their footsteps as the screams continued to dwindle into whimpers, ones he knew only he could hear.

He didn't know who they belonged to, but he knew the person was very quickly running out of time, if they hadn't already started fading. So, it was a relief when he rounded a corner and saw faint green light reflected in the metal at the end of the stretch. He remained careful though, moving them at a steady pace, slowing slightly at the bend as he rounded them into a hallway, revealing the open door with proof of occupancy shining out of it.

When he finally reached the doorway, he snapped his head back in surprise at how large the creature had grown in such a short time. Comparatively, the creature had been emaciated when it first slithered through the opening, passing _through_ his body. Now it stood writhing above what he could now tell was the victim of the dying screams, as evidenced by the whimper still trilling from a red-tinged mouth. On top of the metal shell the rest of his body was encased in, lay a woman with red hair, clearly the new victim.

This wouldn't be a simple fight. He wouldn't be able to quickly make a gate and expel the creature through it. It had gotten too big, and in such tight quarters he risked catching an innocent, or an essential body part in the crosshairs. Perhaps the agent had been right. He would need to hold the creature while they rescued the occupants inside. Once out of the chamber he could make the gate as large as necessary without collateral damage. If he couldn't get everyone out of this alive, Won would never let him live it down.

Taking a deep breath Strange centered himself.

Time to correct his mistake.

* * *

Coulson nearly took a step back as the unit stopped in the doorway. He'd seen the entity on monitors, but somehow he hadn't gotten a feel for just how _massive_ it was, or had become? Had it always been this huge? His eyes couldn't help but track the green tendrils, snaking in random patterns around a large central mass which hung above a large slab of rock.

The sight of Iron Man, of Tony, looking so battered and broken with Romanov laying prone atop him drew his focus and resolve back to the moment. This was the thing that was attacking one of their agents and had nearly killed a former trainee who had become an unlikely friend. And so this was the thing he was going to take out, no matter the risk to himself.

Strange half turned. "Get your people out as quickly as you can. I'll hold it off."

That was the only warning before the doctor stepped away and did something to the creature that made it jolt up and away from Agent Romanov. It slammed against the back wall of the chambers and emitted a strange warbling sound that startled the rest of the team into action.

Coulson slipped around to the left side of the doctor, flipping on the device attached to his waist. He was just in time too, as the creature seemed to hurl itself off of the wall and straight towards them.

"Get back!" he yelled, watching in relief as May pulled Daisy back around the edge of the door just as the machine kicked in. He raised the collector, what looked to him like a long tube connected to a sizable funnel with a significant amount of tech at the end, and did what he always did. He trusted in FitzSimmons to come through.

He was not disappointed. While the doctor had seemed to get a hold of the creature before it hit them, several tendrils had slipped through. Coulson watched as they slid up the device before seeming to realize the danger and attempting to pull away.

Whatever field the duo had created, however, worked well and several tendrils were sucked into the funnel, down through the tube and into the makeshift container module before a larger tendril rose to amputate the compromised ones.

He could see Romanov moving in his peripheral, but Coulson didn't dare take his eyes off the writhing enemy still slamming into the walls and ceiling above them. Maneuvering himself into a better position he took aim once more.

One way or another, this thing was going down.

* * *

Natasha's consciousness seemed to follow the creature's as it was ripped from her mind and back into the real world. She was on her knees and trying to stop herself from falling on Tony before she could shake away the tendrils of a very unpleasant Thursday as a four year old.

Stable once more she caught sight of the blood on Tony's lips before taking in the painful, strained wheeze slipping through them. That was _not_ a good sign. She flinched as someone yelled to "get back" and snapped her eyes over in surprise to see Coulson and Dr. Strange attacking the creature above her. She glanced up to see their former captor flailing in a chaotic mass, causing a rain of debris.

Whipping her head back down, Natasha turned her focus back to Stark, and nearly jammed her fingers scrambling for the release button on his armor. She needed to move him, and that wasn't going to happen in the suit. When she found the release she pressed at it harshly, huffing out a breath, and scurried off of him and out of the way as the armor opened to reveal the bruised body within. She could see the discoloration on his arms where he'd attempted to escape the confines of the suit, beating his limbs again and again against an unyielding metal barrier.

As careful as she could be, considering the speed with which she needed to move, Natasha peeled the cold, tacky body of Tony Stark out of his suit. On a normal day she was fit enough to lift something of Tony's mass without too much difficulty. It was always awkward when that mass came in the form of a body but she was nothing if not adaptable.

Today, however, she was running on fumes. The former sprint, in her condition, hadn't been the best move for her health. She'd made it exactly four steps when his body began to flail wildly. The unexpected effort of keeping him still stole the rest of her energy, and she collapsed to her knees. They struck hard with the added weight she was carrying and she bit her tongue at the blossoming pain.

Working through the hurt she struggled to control the slide of his body off of her shoulder. The new knowledge she gained during their stay here was enough explanation for why his body was suddenly trembling. She didn't worry about keeping him still, but instead focused on making sure he didn't choke on his own tongue until the quakes tapered off.

At some point rocks began to rain down on them from the ceiling, and Natasha forced herself to maneuver Tony's limp form onto her back, dragging both of them to the wall furthest from the action, near where Clint still lay passed out in the corner. After flipping back onto her rear she carefully cushioned Tony's head on her lap, before wrapping a bruised arm around his torso and palming her gun with her free hand.

She wasn't sure a bullet would even make a difference, but if that thing came for Tony again they were going to find out. He was never going to relive that experience if she could help it.

Over her dead body.


	15. All Together Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if despair had a name and liked to eat your nightmares for breakfast? The Avengers are out on a routine mission when despair comes calling, and it sets its sight on our favorite genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. As the team rallies to rescue their friend, they are brought face to face with the fact that they don’t really know Tony at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now the battle!

_"I get by with a little help from my friends… gonna try with a little help from my friends."_

_-The Beatles_

* * *

The flashbacks end abruptly.

One moment they're writhing, drowning under a never-ending torrent of terror and despair; the next it's all suddenly gone, allowing them a much needed breath. The relief is so sharp it staggers them, leaving both Steve and Clint shaking and blinking back tears.

It takes a moment for the group to get their bearings and to realize that they are still inside the landscape of Tony's mind, though the edges have begun to fade, and the light has dimmed except for the green epicenter. All eyes turn to the image of Tony on the slab, confused as to why Natasha is now laying on top of him. The monitor displayed above his suit is skipping with the erratic vitals, drawing their eyes away from her and to the man laying below. They collectively tense in fear and anticipation as they realize the inevitable outcome. No-one could survive that.

But before they can process any more, they are suddenly and violently shoved away, a feeling much like being bodily ejected from a room with a door slamming in their face.

While the other two rarely had to contend with waking up suddenly in control of themselves after someone else was holding the reins only a moment ago, Bruce's experience with the Hulk makes him the fastest to recover his bearings. It only takes a moment before he's pulling himself up toward the dais, grasping for Tony. The empty suit sends him straight into a state of panic, and he's nearly Hulked out before he catches Natasha in the corner of the room shielding Tony's body, while a strange man in a red cape contends with a massive ball of green energy above them.

Bruce knows that the green alien is what has been killing his best friend, and for a moment he considers letting Hulk take the reigns. But the guy in the red cape seems to be holding his own, though the entity is thrashing about and causing the entire room to quake. On the other hand Tony's face is completely ashen, a ghastly contrast to the bright red smears of blood on his lips. His damp hair is plastered against his head and his body lies limp, strewn like a rag doll across Natasha's lap.

Suddenly Bruce has more control than he's ever had, as he reigns in the green beast and spider crawls his way over to where Natasha is half curled around Tony, gun out and pointed, waiting for a good opening.

"Set him down!" Bruce yells over the din of fighting, helping her to carefully slide Tony's head to the floor. Shaking fingers are placed under a cold nose at the same time an ear is pressed into a still chest. The panic he felt earlier surges when he gets no response from either area.

"I don't think he's breathing," he stutters, leaning over and beginning chest compressions. "Give him air!" he shouts when he reaches the correct number of compressions and is satisfied when she tilts his head back in the proper manner before securing her mouth over his.

The rise of Tony's chest lets him know she's successful and he continues the compressions only stopping every so often to see whether he can find a pulse. They need to get him out of here and to medical, but he can't figure out how. The journey down here took 10 minutes, and even with him and Natasha carrying him that would be too long without chest compressions. He needs to stop to get Tony out but can't stop without him dying.

No answer in sight he continues the compressions, motioning to Natasha when she needs to breathe for him. He isn't aware that he's crying until a tear splashes down on his hand. Angry, he wipes at the tears harshly before resettling into the correct motions. He doesn't have time for tears right now. Tony doesn't need tears. He needs his friend, and for once Bruce is going to be that guy.

He isn't going anywhere.

*.*

Clint is sick to stomach at the abrupt change from Tony's hellish nightmare, to the silence of the holding chamber in Tony's mind, to the cacophony of chaos now crashing about him. He tries to resist it but the discombobulation proves too much. Rolling to his side he leans over to vomit, his stomach clenching tightly as acidic bile burns it's way up his throat to splatter against the dirty floor.

The feeling in his head right now is eerily similar to waking up after his brief stint with blue eyes. The knotting stomach muscles and pounding headache shouldn't feel like coming home because he should never have left. It is a feeling that he hoped he wouldn't have the privilege of feeling again, and it distresses him that he is currently feeling it anyway.

A pair of feet nearly crushing his calf makes his focus jerk back to his surroundings. A quick glance gives him a clearer understanding of what's happening, though, and his blood runs cold when he hears Bruce yell "I don't think he's breathing!"

"Hey! Sorry about that. Can you move?" A distinctly feminine voice asks from above him. He looks up to see Agent Sky or Daisy or whatever her name is hovering over him, while keeping an eye on her team, who seem to be working with the weird cape dude to keep their green captor at bay.

"Not really sure," he breathes out of a dry mouth. Fighting against the pounding in his head, he pushes against his arms to test his strength. The shaking is visible, and he is grateful for the arm around his back as he pushes through the fatigue and rises to his feet. He can hear Nat in his head now, telling him how he needs more foods that are rich in water, and he is very sure his former vomiting did not help his situation.

During the effort his eyes stray to where Bruce and Natasha are pressed against a corner of the wall administering CPR to a too still Tony and his entire body clenches in an overwhelming feeling of denial.

"Come on! We've got to get you out of here! This place is going to cave in at any moment."

"Help Tony!" he yells, pushing her much needed arm away and nearly collapsing. He would have, if not for the wall behind him. "I'm fine. Help him!"

He watches her look up in exasperation at the trio in the corner before nodding.

"Fine! But you get out now! We're right behind you!"

He means to move as she turns and makes her way to his dying friend, but the dark blood slowly trickling down Tony's throat keeps him captive in fear that they are already too late.

*.*

Steve has never been so turned around in his life, and it takes a moment for him to realize that he is back in own body.

His mind is still with Tony, still tumbling through the void of space, alone and in terror and pain. He doesn't even notice the transition back into the real world from the landscape of Tony's mind. Not until a second before something hits him, pulls at him like a freight truck. His own words echo in his mind as the sounds of a battle make its presence known above him.

_You better stop pretending you're a hero._

The echoes of the pain those words caused, as well as countless others, ripple through his body and his eyes burn, too dry to make tears. He blinks at the sensation, only now noting how loud the sounds of battle are in the once quiet chamber. He hears shouting close by and shakes his head, trying to break away from the last tendrils of Tony's nightmare.

"Hey! You with me?!"

The shout draws his head up, and he raises his eyes to see Agent...well, he can't remember her name in the moment, but he's seen her around Agent Coulson enough to know that she's with SHIELD. He watches her dodge a green tendril with formidable flexibility before clicking a button on her belt that seems to act as a deterrent. The green tendril seizes a few times and then retreats.

"Are you with me?!" She yells again turning back towards him. He shakes his head, wondering at his own sluggish thoughts and movements and then nods.

"Yea I'm, I'm-" the flash of blue electricity draws his eye and he suddenly remembers what they'd been doing before being pulled back into the last memory.

"Tony!"

*.*

Natasha is relieved when she sees Bruce come crawling awkwardly toward her. If he's awake then perhaps the others have managed to get out as well. She complies when he yells at her to lay Tony down. He's told them time and again that he's not _that_ kind of doctor but she's not going to argue with him about it now.

Her relief is short lived, however, and spikes straight back into panic when it's clear that Bruce can't find a pulse. He starts comprehensions immediately and Natasha grits her teeth again as she flips over, just in time to administer the first breath.

They work together, whether to keep Tony alive or bring him back she's not sure. As a trained agent she usually doesn't need the reminder to give breaths at appropriate times, but now she finds the verbal cue comforting and sadly necessary as fatigue slams into her hard. So hard, in fact, that she misses the arrival of the new person until they speak.

"Hey! Oh, shit. How can I help?"

Natasha slams her drooping eyes open to look up at Agent Johnson. When had she gotten there? How long had she been out? Bruce's verbal prompt spurs her into action, and as he hasn't said anything she assumes she didn't miss much.

"Well," she hears Bruce huff as he works to keep the compressions steady and uniform as she seals blood stained lips to Tony's and breathes into him carefully, once, and then twice. "I don't suppose you happen to have an AED on you?"

At the mention of an AED Natasha groans and nearly bangs her head into the metal wall in punishment. What the hell is wrong with her?! She fumbles with the bracelets at her wrist that contain her still fully charged widow bites with enough electricity in them to fry an elephant.

"These," she wheezes out. "Use these."

Daisy takes them, being familiar with the design from SHIELDs database and Natasha leans away from Tony for a moment.

"Okay. Clear!" Bruce snatches his hands away at the last second and they all blink at the surge of electricity that flows into Tony. For a second they watch, but there's no reaction and Bruce quickly goes back to giving compressions.

She sees Daisy hesitate to administer another shock. They're fumbling in the dark here. The bites only have one setting, and without a professional they can't be sure if they need more juice or if another attempt will fry Tony's heart. He needs medical attention yesterday.

Her eyes stray to the fight on their left, pleasantly surprised at a noticeable reduction in size of the behemoth she recalls from what feels like ages ago, but her focus is pulled sharply back to the dying man beside her at another firm command.

"Nat! Breathe!"

She breathes.

*.*

Dr. Strange can't say he's not annoyed with the device Agent Coulson is wielding, though he can't argue with it's effectiveness. He realizes very quickly that his plans are going to have to change, especially when the resilient agent spiriting Tony Stark to safety fractures her kneecaps in the attempt. If they had to carry everyone out this was going to take much longer than he could hold the creature.

However, with Coulson's device sucking away bits and pieces of the Rake he notices a sizable reduction in it's size. A quick decision later and his plans have changed. Without taking his eyes off of the enemy he yells instructions to Coulson.

"Keep suctioning off as much as you can! I'll steer it towards you when you're ready. Once it reaches a certain size I'll need you to hold it while I create the gate!"

"Okay!" he hears the answer shouted in reply. "Ready when you are!"

The two of them make a formidable team and surprisingly quick work of the creature. It becomes weaker at an exponential rate with each piece lost to Coulson's containment box. In what feels like minutes but he is sure is in fact mere seconds, they've reduced the creature down to a manageable size.

Now, for the hard part.

*.*

Steve's frantic yell for Tony is immediately followed by him pushing past the sore muscles and surging to his feet. A strong hand on his arms steadies him when he sways a bit.

"Hey!" the small woman yells beside him. "You need to get out! I'll grab your friends."

For a moment, he looks at her like she's crazy. Did she not see the suit? Captain America didn't run in the face of danger, and Steve never left a friend behind. Unapologetically appalled at her demand, he's about to ask her if she knows who he is when a hole in reality forms right in the middle of the chamber.

"Hold it still!" A strange man in a red cape yells as he makes a set of hand motions that move the tear in reality closer to their former captor.

"Doing...My best!" Comes the gritted reply, and Steve notices Agent Coulson with his back near the door of the chamber, wielding a strange device that seems to be somehow _sucking_ the strange energy into a box on his waist.

Steve's mind has trouble explaining the rift, and he feels sick at the sight of what looks like a dark stretch of emptiness moving and _growing_ in the small area around them. He can't help wondering just what on God's green Earth had happened while they were out.

"Get down!" The woman beside him yells. He has just enough time to turn and see the large green tendril attempting to wrap itself around him.

*.*

Bruce is tired, his muscles are on fire, but he refuses to stop. He refuses to give in. If Tony had made it through the minefield that was his life, then he could make through this.

In the corner of his eye he can see Natasha flagging and uses precious energy to bring her back when she starts to slip. The way she'd moved into her current position indicated that she may be working through a serious leg injury.

"Okay. Okay so what. We try again?" Comes the voice of the young woman who'd come to their aid moments ago.

"I don't know," he huffs, seeing Nat slip again and taking another second to call her back. "That was more powerful than I had anticipated. I'm not sure if another would help or hurt."

"Well I mean, how much would it hurt if he's already-."

He doesn't have to stop her from finishing that sentence because her head whips to the side at someone shouting to get down. He can't exactly see what she does, but he can see movement out of the side of his eye and guesses that she's raised some sort of weapon at the creature behind them. There is a strange warbling cry, one that he is sure is caused by her, and then a faint splattering sound.

"Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts," he hears her mutter, though he can't and doesn't try to understand why.

He just hopes that whatever she did had hurt like a son of bitch. Malice had never been his MO but looking down into the ashen, lifeless face of his best friend he can't help but think that the creature deserved it.

His only regret is that he wasn't the one dishing it out.

*.*

At the warning to get down Steve turns towards the attack, and once seeing it, prepares to dodge. He knows that he won't be fast enough and huffs out a breath at the feel of a pair of feet crashing into his ribs, sending him stumbling back to fall on his rear against the wall behind him.

He watches the tendril that had nearly surrounded him attempt to do the same with the agent, the quick clicking of her magic button only seeming to postpone the inevitable this time. It's nearly to her skin when it suddenly freezes as if gripped in a vice and begins to tremor violently, actual portions of it breaking away from the rest to either dissipate or, in a few horrifying cases, fall wetly to the ground in a viscous puddle.

"Release the rest of it back into the portal so I can close it!" The man in the cape shouts, drawing attention back to the pair. The hole in space has consumed most of the glowing enemy and is nearly to Agent Coulson. He watches as the agent unclips his belt with one hand and fumbles to open what he can now see looks to be a half fortified metal container before thrusting it away from his body.

Time seems to slow down as the remains of the entity stops it's momentum towards the rift and reverses its direction heading straight towards Coulson. Steve can hear the woman beside him screaming Coulson's name in alarm, but they are too far away. They can only watch as the rift in space speeds up exponentially, nearly colliding with Coulson before disappearing as quickly as it was formed, dozens of small flashes of orange embers dissipating against his face.

Just like that, the entity is gone.

"Please, Tony."

The desperate plea in the suddenly quiet room draws everyone's attention, and Steve picks up his aching body and races over to the huddle around Tony. His breath catches in his throat at the sight of the pale lifeless face that greets him. Tony looks _dead._

Steve's breath hitches, then comes faster as he realizes that they were too late. Tony is gone, and he'll never get to apologize for all the shitty things he said to him. He'll never get to admit that he was wrong about Howard or make amends for how he prejudged the man from a set of stupid _tapes_ , which had shown him nothing of who Tony really was. He cannot stand the thought of Tony's last moments being alone, surrounded by hatred and pain. It was too cruel.

Yet in the growing silence, filled only with the huff of Bruce's CPR and his own whispered pleas, he realizes that there's nothing he can do. They are already too late.

*.*

Clint watches the entire battle from the corner he'd woken up in.

At first he doesn't move because he can't. Dehydration and a significant amount of hours lying prone in the same position have drained him of energy and adequate coordination. After demanding Agent Daisy help Tony he stays where he's half leaned half fallen against the wall, watching as she dodges fallen debris on her way over to the trio.

His eyes can't help but be drawn to the man in the red cape in the center of the room, holding their former captor at bay with what seems to be magic. His sluggish brain finally supplies a name from one of his many briefings. The Sorcerer Supreme, he thinks they called him.

Which is a shame. He really hates magic.

Still, he can't help but be impressed as the wizard's cape seems to combat any tendril that tries to come close to him. He is wondering if maybe he could get something like that, when a flash of brilliant light turns his focus back to Tony.

Tony, his friend, who is dying in a corner and that he can do nothing to prevent. Tony who they'd all been really shitty to without even realizing it. Tony, who'd survived being awake during open heart surgery in a dirty cave with no anesthesia. And seriously, how the hell had he come through that alive? Tony, who was always ready with a quick smile, so no one ever saw that he was dying inside.

He breaks his gaze away again when Agent Daisy does something to the tendrils across the chamber that saves Agent May. So _that's_ what they meant by quaking. Effective.

"Release the rest of it back into the portal so I can close it!"

The shout draws his attention back to the battle, and he watches as Agent Coulson and the wizard work together to take down the big baddie. He finds he still has strength for alarm when the rather large portal makes a drastic increase in speed that seems poised to swallow Coulson along with it. He hears Agent May scream his name in alarm, and has himself nearly taken a step forward when the portal winks out of existence in the blink of eye, taking the rest of the creature with it and dousing Coulson in what looks to him like orange fireflies.

Bruce's pleas for Tony's life tugs at his attention, but for a moment he's still focused on the space in front of Coulson where the portal had once been. It was his understanding that portals took to you different places. He assumes the one the wizard used sent their monster somewhere other than Earth, but that doesn't mean smaller jumps aren't possible.

As Steve makes a mad dash around the dais, Clint shores up his resolve and pushes off the wall heading the opposite way. When he reaches his destination, he nearly falls on the man, who automatically reaches out a hand to steady him.

"Portal him," he huffs, not sure how long they've been down here fighting, but fearing that it has been much too long already.

"Excuse me?" the man asks, confusion laced with snark.

"Our friend, Tony." He gestures wildly back at the group now huddled around the prone engineer. The movement takes his feet from under him, and he appreciates the doctor's assistance in guiding him to the ground, instead of letting him crash into a heap.

"He needs help. Portal him. Please?"

At the solemn nod, Clint allows himself to collapse fully, breath coming in quick pants. He can feel Coulson's hands, one soft and warm and one cold and decidedly less pliant, reaching down to check his status and help him get into a comfortable position. He can feel the edges of his vision begin to darken, and he strains against the sensation until he watches the wizard disappear with Tony, Bruce and Natasha through a glittering portal with a wide-eyed FitzSimmons inside, before it winks shut.

"It's okay," he hears Coulson reassure him. "You did it. He's in good hands. You can rest now."

The breath he lets out is shaky and long, and he can just register the burn in his eyes as each blink pulls him further and further down.

None of the Avengers are aware that in that exact moment, in an extremely rare occurrence of hidden, unearthly synchronization, and in clear defiance of the original plea, they all have the very same thought.

_**Please God, let him live.** _

* * *

"All I'm saying is that he could have left _some_ of it in the box," Jemma continued her argument. "Who knows when we may need a sample of something like it later on."

"Why in the bloody hell would we ever need a sample of deadly alien _goo_ later on?" Fitz exasperated as they went about tidying up their lab.

"Well I don't _know,_ " she stressed, matching his huffy tone. "You _never_ know. That's all I'm saying."

They'd been monitoring the teams progress through Stark's bots and making sure the containment model was up and running and ready to deploy at a moments notice. They'd both screamed at the holo-display as they watched the portal shoot towards Coulson, only to sag in relief a moment later when it disappeared, taking the creature with it.

After a brief moment of relief, they'd begun the proper procedures that Coulson would be expecting upon their return. Medical had been notified of a likely intake at the Indian base, a mere twenty minutes away. They were in the middle of readying the only two stretchers on the Bus when a hole in space opened up in the middle of the room and promptly deposited three people onto their floor before winking out of existence.

"Holy…" Fitz began on a deep breath.

"Hell…" Jemma finished before dropping whatever had been in her hands, and stumbling to the wall to rip off the AED before and racing towards the trio.

"He's not breathing," a man she recognized as Dr. Banner panted, clearly not in the best physical health himself. "We tried electrical shock with the thing around her wrist, but it was unsuccessful."

"How long has he been unresponsive?" she asked eyeing the device on the wrist of Agent Romanov who looked seconds away from passing out. Jemma hadn't really been focused on the trio during the battle, and she felt a little behind, but easily recognized the Widow Bites and calculated the amount of joules they'd administered as well as how much she may need going forward.

"I don't know. He wasn't breathing when I got to him," he huffed. "It seems like a lifetime ago but I'd guess it's no more than seven minutes."

"Fitz, can you get me an IV, a shot of adrenaline and a shot of Metoprolol?" she called over her shoulder, not bothering to move the prone body beneath her fingers. The Metoprolol most likely wouldn't be useful until later, but she wanted it on hand just in case things went south faster than she expected.

She checked for a pulse while Fitz grabbed the drugs and confirmed the lack of heartbeat. Seven minutes was past the threshold that a brain could survive without oxygen, but with Dr. Banner administering CPR she knew that threshold could get higher. Still, the clock was definitely ticking.

Working around Dr. Banner, she wasted no time cutting the shirt off and administering the sticky nodes at the appropriate points on her patient's chest. Grabbing the prepared adrenaline from her partner's hand, Jemma paused to take a steadying breath and find an appropriate vein. She didn't have time to IV him as she didn't want Dr. Banner to stop chest compressions until she could confirm a rhythm. Locating one proved blessedly easy as she readily identified a large one visible on the patient's left arm.

Carefully injecting the needle she administered the adrenaline and counted to ten before administering the shock, after a quick warning to Bruce.

Nothing.

They went again, and she took a moment to dash across the lab and grab a non-invasive ventilator. In her peripheral she noticed that Fitz was attempting to take the vitals of Agent Romanov who was in considerably better shape than Dr. Stark, seeing as she was visibly breathing.

Focusing back on her current patient she dashed back to him, all but slamming to her knees and nearly crushing his hand in her rush to secure the device to his face and begin the flow of oxygen.

At the two minute mark she checked for a pulse and, finding none, administered another shock from the defibrillator. Dr. Banner immediately resumed compressions while she administered another dose. When the time was up they repeated the process, and she cursed as they continued to get no response.

After the third defibrillation with no response, she heard Fitz call her name softly, but she shook her head fiercely, feeling her hair whip across her sticky cheeks. She would _not_ be the one who robbed the world of Tony Stark. That was a reality she couldn't handle.

"Again!" she demanded, glad when Dr. Banner hadn't even paused in his increasingly wearing duty of providing compressions.

"Come on Tony. Please come back. Please come back," Bruce muttered.

"Boss?!"

The panicked note of what sounded like an Irish woman drew her attention for a moment, though she looked around confused when it was clear no one had entered their lab.

"The drone." Fitz breathed pointing to a small hovering camera hesitantly nearing the working duo.

Jemma didn't have time to be amazed as her entire focus went back to her patient. As another marker neared she found herself mimicking Dr. Banner, adding her own whispered pleas in the air.

"Please, Dr. Stark. I haven't even met you properly. I haven't had the chance to embarrass myself by tripping over my awe at your sheer brilliance. At least give me a proper hello."

She finished administering the last shot of adrenaline she had readily on hand and counted down the seconds. "Please," she found herself pleading again. "Don't make me tell Coulson I failed him. Don't make me have to tell him I lost his friend."

At the mark she stopped Banner to check the pulse, dread filling her gut as she again found nothing.

He was gone.

"Tony," Banner cried. "Don't… I'm sorry! I'm so sorry."

"Boss?" The voice even softer than it had been before, words nearly incomprehensible. "Please don't leave me."

Jemma had been seconds away from admitting defeat, but at the whispered words of what she suspected was another one of Dr. Stark's state of art AIs, she reached for the defibrillator anyway. She had sounded so _real._

Bruce continued compressions as she checked again for a pulse, wondering how long they could go before Fitz got back-up to physically pull them away.

"Stop!" she screamed.

Her yell startled everyone in the room, including herself, and she reached out a hand to shove Dr. Banner's arms away so that she could place the stethoscope directly on her patient's chest. The answering swish in her ear was the sweetest sound she'd ever heard.

"He's got a pulse!" she said with trembling excitement, shaking hands scrambling for the IV kit next her.

The line went in easy, and she started him on fluids even as she directed Dr. Banner and Fitz to maneuver him onto a stretcher. Once hooked up to a proper machine she set the alerts to the highest setting, letting the beeping ring loudly in the lab.

Proof that Tony Stark had a pulse.


	16. Feedback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if despair had a name and liked to eat your nightmares for breakfast? The Avengers are out on a routine mission when despair comes calling, and it sets its sight on our favorite genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. As the team rallies to rescue their friend, they are brought face to face with the fact that they don’t really know Tony at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! For those who celebrate it I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving! Please enjoy this next installment. Believe it or not there's only one more left. Time flies!

_Underneath my outside face_

_There's a face that none can see._

_A little less smiley,_

_A little less sure,_

_But a whole lot more like me._

_\- Underface by Shel Silverstein_

* * *

Tony woke up on a scream.

"Oh my God."

"Is he awake?!"

"Hold him down!" a shout came, as he began to flail, twisting to try to get _away_. His eyes blinked open, but bright light blinded him and suddenly he was back in the dark cave, unbearable pain in his chest as Yinsen cut parts of him out and put new things in their place.

He tried to beg, pleading with Yinsen for mercy. He knew that he'd failed, that he'd wasted the gift of life Yinsen had given him and now he was being punished for it, but the pain was too much.

"Just kill me," he sobbed, choking on agony and saliva. "Just kill me, please!"

The only response was an increasingly cool feeling, which traveled up his arm as Tony began to drift, the pain blessedly dying down. He hadn't expected Yinsen to listen, and he was beyond grateful as the strange image of a hospital room superimposed over the cave began to fade. He had a last fleeting thought before he slipped away.

_**"Thank you for saving me."**_

* * *

"How did it go?" Coulson asked, arms crossed in nervousness as Dr. Sial began to scrub out. He very pointedly did not look at the blood still on her operating gown and streaming off of her gloves into the sink.

"As well as can be expected I suppose," she answered with a sigh, clearly fatigued. "I've done many surgeries in my lifetime, and because of the nature of the job there are times where I have to treat or operate on a patient who is awake, or without anesthesia. In these situations I take adequate precautions and most often the patient passes out before I can get to the truly horrible part. Dr. Stark however…"

Coulson looked down, arms tightening around himself. He hadn't been in the room but he'd _heard_ , could still hear the screaming when he thought about it too much. Keeping the Avengers from breaking down the door had been a cakewalk compared to the control he'd had to exert to keep himself from doing the exact same thing.

"He woke up with my hands in his chest, _screwing_ two pieces of his ribs back together." Coulson flinched at the mental image. "Luckily, we were able to knock him out fairly quickly."

"So… he's okay?"

"That is yet to be seen, but he'll live certainly."

That was all Coulson needed to hear right then. After Dr. Strange had portaled Stark, Banner and Romanov straight into FitzSimmons lab, he'd assisted with the rescue of the other injured Avengers and had wisely deposited them into the hangar bay. It was clear Stark was in the most critical condition and Simmons would need the space to work.

By the time they'd reached the base in Kolkata, she'd gotten Stark stabilized, though it was his understanding that it hadn't been easy. His worry only increased during the transfer when he overheard Simmons informing Dr. Sial of the multiple fractures and two severe breaks in Stark's ribs, which had already punctured one lung and was threatening the other.

In light of that, certainty of life was all he needed. They'd have time enough to work on the technicalities of 'okay'.

"Thank you," he said sincerely, making eye contact, though she looked away quickly. He turned on his heel and was out the door before calm breaths turned into the deep irregular pattern of a person trying not to cry.

* * *

Dr. Sial had received many expressions of gratitude from her patients in her lifetime. Nearly all of them had been after the fact, with the exception of a few optimists before the surgery had started. No one had ever thanked her in the middle of the fire before; not until today.

She would never forget the look of relief and startling finality in Stark's eyes, as if she'd been granting him death instead of life. She found the incongruence distressing and couldn't help but to wonder what exactly had happened to him.

* * *

The sound of beeping pulls him into awareness. Fear keeps his eyes closed. He doesn't want to know. He doesn't want to see.

In the end, it's the damn beeping that gives him away.

"Dr. Stark? Can you hear me?"

The voice is feminine and he nods a bit in compliance. It doesn't cost him or anyone else anything, and he hopes it will stave off the inevitable punishment. He doesn't know who has him, but using a woman is a first.

"Can you open your eyes?" she asks in concern and he nods accent, though he doesn't open them. He doesn't want to see where he is or who his captors are. He wants to go back to the cold quiet metal box he'd been in a moment ago.

"Okay, please do not worry yourself Dr. Stark, okay? You can try opening your eyes when you are ready. My name is Dr. Sial. You're in a SHIELD medical facility located in Kolkata, India."

The name of the city pulls at something in his memory, and his eyes snap open in surprise at the fuss his stomach suddenly makes. The bright light of the room makes him blink in surprise and wariness.

"You have given us a very hard time here, and we are happy to finally see you awake."

At his left stands a short doctor, warm brown skin glowing under the fluorescent lights and a clipboard in her hands.

"I just have a few questions, and then I promise you can rest a little more okay? Can you tell me your full name?"

He decides it's okay to answer this. It's not as if they don't already know.

"Anthony-." He cuts himself off at the achy itchy burn at the back of his throat.

"You seem to have damaged your vocal chords a fair bit, but I've taken a look, and there shouldn't be any lasting damage as long as you take it easy. And refrain from screaming of course."

Her smile was bright and kind and he wants to cry at the sight. How long has it been since a stranger was kind to him?

"Whispering is completely okay though," she adds with a wink before prompting. "Anthony…"

"Edward Stark," he finishes with a rasp.

"Very good Dr. Stark. Can you tell me your birthday?"

"May 29, 1970."

"Yes, okay, and do you know what year it is?"

"2016?"

"Is that a question or are you telling me?" she asks with a smirk and a lift of her brow.

"I haven't decided," he grins back, or attempts to. The itching in his throat starts a hacking cough that takes over his body and aborts the motion, highlighting a blossoming pain in his chest.

"And that right there is why you're on strong antibiotics. I don't want you getting pneumonia on top of everything else." She fingers the hanging IV bags with a critical eye before nodding sharply, turning towards the back of the room where a sink, cabinet and refrigerator are located.

Riding out the wave of agony, he watches her walk away and startles a moment later when a woman suddenly appears beside his bed, setting a cup of shaved ice on the tray above his lap. He knew her name was Dr. Sial, but why was he here? Where was here? A hospital? Why didn't the room have windows?

"Alright, no more questions for now, and I don't want you talking too much until your throat's a little less irritated and inflamed yes? Which means limited visiting time, but I figure it's okay for you to say hello."

A vague sense of dread begins to trickle up his spine as he watches her go to the door. A blink later and she's gone and there's a ghost walking into his room. He knows it is a ghost because Coulson is dead. Tony had been there when he died. The image of his body slumped against the wall, the fatal wound in his chest still oozing, overlays the image of the healthy man currently strolling towards him.

"Coulson?" he breathes in shock and fear.

"Mr. Stark. It's good to see you awake."

His heart is now hammering so hard in his chest that it's causing a sharp pain with each beat, nearly making him gasp.

"You're dead." he manages to get out, looking down at his hands that have begun to tremble.

"Rumors that have been grossly overstated," the faux Colson smirks before stepping even closer. "Hey, are you okay?"

His answer is cut off by the arrival of more people coming through the door. All of whom are dead. Their smiles morph into black holes, with slack faces and empty eyes. He can see their bodies now, strewn across the ground. The cold void of space is a frame for the gruesome image of a slaughter that had been all his fault.

He screams then.

He screams because he remembers. He screams because he cannot forget. He screams because now he understands where he is and is powerless to stop the approaching ghouls with mouths hungry for revenge.

He slams his eyes against the sight. He doesn't want to see what he already knows.

This is hell.

* * *

The cries are unexpected and startle the group out of motion. Though they are nowhere near as loud as they had been previously, the breaking, whispery, quality of them pulls at each of their hearts.

"Tony?"

At the sound of Steve's questioning voice Tony slams his arms over his ears and begins to rock. It's when he begins to dig his nails into his arms that Coulson breaks from the brief shock and dashes to the bed.

"Get the doc!" he shouts, alarmed that he can already see blood blossoming under Tony's fingers. He wants to grab that hand and forcefully stop the self-harm, but is afraid to make it worse. He'd seen cases like these, had struggled through his own trauma after his death. PTSD manifested in a slew of different ways, and a grip meant to help could easily be interpreted as an attack.

"What happened?" Dr. Sial demands. He turns to see her shoving through the group with a fierce look that reminds him of a very angry mamma bear.

"Something triggered him," Coulson informs, gesturing to fingers that were creating deeper wounds by the second. "Might have been me. The first thing he said was that I was dead. A fact that I'm nearly positive he'd already discovered wasn't true."

"I don't want to sedate him," she murmurs looking at his vitals with a deep frown. "But I may have to."

"Tony?" The voice draws their attention, and Coulson can see the annoyance in Dr. Sial's face at the room's crowded occupancy. He watches her open her mouth, assuming she's about to order them all out when Steve speaks again. "Tony it's okay. Look, it's us. It's your friends."

The response is immediate, screams ratcheting up in volume and hands flying up to claw at his face and eyes, too quick for the closest hands to stop the initial damage. The gentler option now taken off of the table, Coulson and Dr. Sial each lunge for an arm in unspoken unity and struggle to keep Tony from any further attempts at tearing his face.

"You!" The doctor yells at the closest person which happens to be Steve. "Help me hold him! I need to get the sedative!"

Steve hears the order and moves to follow, but is slowed by lingering horror at the memory of himself in Tony's last nightmare, vindictive and cruel, holding the man down while the others tortured him. And it's only made worse by sight of nearly a dozen jagged, bleeding tears now covering Tony's face, rivulets of blood flowing into and out of his friend's mouth.

By the time he begins to move again, it is too late. Natasha breezes by him taking over for Dr. Sial and securing the straining arm. They are in the middle of the trade when the cries cut off abruptly and Tony suddenly goes limp, a second before his limbs reanimate in a more distinctively chaotic pattern.

"He's seizing! Get him on his side!" Sial snaps.

"He's been off his Dilantin for nearly a week," Bruce informs, stepping forward with a worried brow as Coulson and Natasha help to wrestle Tony on his side so that he doesn't choke.

"He's epileptic?!" Dr. Sial huffs turning towards the doctor with a glare before dashing for a drawer a few paces away, shoving aside the contents within before grabbing a small package and ripping it open with her teeth. "That's something I should have known."

"He never told us," Steve breathes. "We only just found out."

"I knew," Bruce corrects. "And you're right I'm sorry."

"It's fine," she acknowledges, removing the pre-packed syringe and injecting the contents into the IV, which has thankfully stayed in Tony's arm despite the upset. "It's not like you've had a chance to before now. Do any of the rest of you have vital information on his pre-existing medical conditions?"

The silence is brief, every eye on Tony as the thrashing grows less and less violent, until Natasha and Coulson feel safe stepping away.

"Dr. Banner, I'd like you to stay for a few brief questions. The rest of you need to head back to the waiting area."

"Listen." Steve begins. "Tony is our friend. We need to be-."

"Stop right there," Dr. Sial interrupts. "Let's get this straight right now okay? I'm not trying to stop you from seeing your friend. That's not my job. My job, is to prevent him from scratching his face off or worse, trying to commit suicide or anything else that would further jar the ribs I just finished painstakingly screwing back together. You all came in as a group, so we can't know for sure who or what triggered him, or if it was even you. Perhaps it was me leaving, or a light that flickered, or hell, maybe a twinge in his ribs threw him off. We don't know. And until then I'd like to limit the amount of potential possible. We'll see where he is once he wakes up. If he's in a stable condition then we can start introducing you back one at a time. Now, if you don't mind I have to make sure he didn't bite his tongue off."

The dismissal is clear. And they all slump out of the room except Bruce, who stays and answers as much as he can. Dr. Sial knows that some things are changed or omitted out of respect for his friend, but she believes that the basics at least, have been communicated. Such as the fact that her patient also has a mild allergy to bees.

His ribs had thankfully remained secure and most of the time he's out is spent disinfecting the jagged wounds on his arms and face. He'd only narrowly missed his eyes, the torn skin easing into a vertical bruise down his left eyelid, before breaking again at his cheek. As much as she absolutely hates the idea, she knows that he will need outpatient care until they can get him a psych eval to make sure he won't hurt himself once released.

Judging by the protectiveness of his friends, that isn't going to be an easy discussion. Most likely they will want to care for him themselves, but she's had too many cases where such arrangements have ended in the worst possible scenario. Despite the best of intentions, friends and family were the most fallible. It didn't occur to them that leaving for two minutes to use the restroom could be enough time for their loved one to slit their wrist with the ancient decorative swords displayed on the wall or down a bottle of bleach.

She is determined that Anthony Stark won't be added to that sad number. So, after adding a liquid bandage to the last cut she makes a call to request the transfer. The sooner she can get him settled, the better. Environmental changes can be difficult for PTSD patients, not to mention the possible amnesia from his seizure.

She'll have to remember to ask Coulson if he's informed Stark's next of kin about his condition. Friends are all well and good, and beneficial to morale, but family often proves the most important factor in a patient's speedy recovery.

* * *

Bruce sat quietly in the lobby of the new facility where Dr. Sial had transferred Tony, his hands curled to fists in his hair, as he leaned his elbows on his knees. He didn't bother to stop the tears streaming down his face, didn't really care what anyone else thought of them.

His entire focus was on keeping the crushing guilt contained in his chest. The Hulk wanted to change it to anger. But that's not what Tony needed right now. The thought made him flinch in regret. If he'd paid more attention to what Tony needed, they may not even be in this situation right now.

Steve was pacing the length of the small waiting area and back in a rare display of nerves. Clint sat in a chair across from him in much the same position as himself, while Natasha rested against the wall next to the door. He didn't need to guess what they were thinking about because he knew they were all thinking about the same person.

A few hours ago they'd arrived to see Tony only to be turned away. Steve had insisted. They all had really, which was not unexpected considering their three-day trip down Tony's memory lane. Two bruised staff later, and they'd rushed to Tony's room, easily located by the screams emanating from within.

After bursting through the door, they'd found Tony tied to a bed, one staff member watching the restraints closely while the other added something to the IV. Within a few moments the screaming died down, as Tony slipped back into sleep. They'd all had a very long conversation, first with the two technicians and then with the director of the facility, who had informed them that in light of Tony's reactions, they were limiting visitation to family only; a very short list that consisted of Pepper Potts and Colonel James Rhodes, neither of which were them.

That little tidbit had nearly sent Steve ballistic. It was only the promise of an explanation from Dr. Sial that calmed him down. So the group now waited in the lobby, most of them trying to get the memory of Tony's screams out of their ears. Luckily, their wait wasn't long, and within 15 minutes Coulson entered the facility with Dr. Sial in tow.

"Hey guys. I know you're all anxious, so I'll let Dr. Sial explain first, before I brief you on what's expected going further."

They did not like what she had to say.

"I've finally been cleared to be briefed about the part of your mission that specifically dealt with Dr. Stark and led to his current condition. With that knowledge, it is my belief that Dr. Stark is going through a sort of…trauma induced withdrawal."

"Withdrawal?" Clint asked.

"In short, the overproduction of hormones produced by fear on a continual basis for three days leaves a mark. His system had started to get used to that setting. I imagine it'll come back down on its own, but until then he'll need assistance keeping it down and careful monitoring."

At Coulson's insistence, she then informed them about what had led to the current episode they'd just walked in on.

The transfer had taken longer than what was ideal, and Tony had been confused when he'd come to in the middle of it. Mild amnesia required the doctor to reintroduce herself and explain why they were moving him. He'd made it to the facility before slipping into what she described as a waking terror, during which they'd had to restrain him to keep him from hurting himself.

That was all earlier in the day. What the group had just walked into was Tony waking up for the first time in the new facility, an action that had been immediately followed by an anticipated slip into a terror, which is where they had come barging in.

"You said trauma induced," Natasha spoke up, her statement a clear question.

"Yes," Sial nodded solemnly. "In these types of cases it's not uncommon for the patient to experience an echo of sorts. If a traumatic thing happens to you, what do you do once it's over? You think about what just happened, you relive it, you try to think of ways you could have avoided it. Things you could have done differently. At first, the pain of recall can be so strong you may feel like you're reliving the trauma, as if you were actually there. This feeling can be consuming and persistent, but most often it fades over time, like an echo.

"A residual effect," Bruce clipped looking up in sorrowful regret.

"Precisely," Dr. Sial confirmed, and for a moment everyone was silent as the truth ripped into them.

Tony was still stuck in the nightmare. Only this time, the assailant was his mind.

* * *

"Where is he?" Pepper demands, striding through the doors of the private in-patient physical and mental recovery ward that was usually reserved for SHIELD agents, of which she is very aware that Tony is not, and therefore should never have been doing active duty missions as a _**retired** consultant!_

No one questions who she means, or tries to deny her further entry into the facility, or argues with her that they don't receive visitors at 4:22 am; which is simply a display of decent self preservation instincts, of which all SHIELD agents should have a healthy dose.

Without delay she is led straight to his door and promptly left there. An action she is reluctant to admit she appreciates because she finds it equally horrifying that they hadn't even asked her name. For all they know she could have been coming to finish the job.

Deciding to address the glaring hole in security at a later date, she takes a moment to brace herself. Her eagerness to see him with her own eyes doesn't leave her standing there for long. There's only a scant few seconds of silent fortification before the door is swinging open as she steps into the room.

He's lying in bed staring out of the window to his right. With most of his face in shadow, she can only make out a few long jagged wounds that have already scabbed over. The shape of his face looks a little gaunt, as if he hasn't eaten in a few days, but he thankfully hasn't crossed over into malnourishment. Though at a second glance at the sharp outline of his jawline, she could argue he is on its doorstep. She can't tell what the rest of him looks like under the standard facility bedding they have him under, but there are no spaces where the sheets fall flat where they shouldn't, no limbs wrapped in casts or secured in any swings, and no breathing machines, so she finds her shoulders drooping in relief. She's seen him way more damaged. He's alright.

"Tony?" She calls out to him tentatively and retracts her earlier statement the moment their eyes meet. His eyes are bloodshot and sunken, palpable fear easily identifiable in his expression. More horrifying is what the dim light of the sole lamp suddenly reveals, more jagged wounds that nearly cover his face like a bloody patchwork quilt.

"Pepper?" his voice comes out in a whisper, raspy and light.

Past the fear there is recognition in his gaze, and she takes several steps closer to the bed. As she nears the foot of the bed, Tony jolts backward, a look of panic on his face before his eyes fill with tears that spill down the sides of his face.

"You're dead," he suddenly rasps, breaths stuttering out in a hiccupping quality, as he begins to weep in earnest. "It's my fault. I'm so sorry."

Her arms are around him before he can protest further, and as she tries to hold his shaking frame together, she understands why he is here and that he is very much not alright. The small creak alerts her to another horror, and she pulls away just enough to verify that he's strapped securely to the bed beneath him.

Torn between her need to release his bonds and the need to soothe his sorrow by keeping him tucked safely into her arms, she begins to cry herself. Someone has harmed him on a primal level, and when she finds the responsible party, she is going to make them pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also just a quick shout out to my beta. I'm _**terrible** _with tenses and I got especially careless at the end here, so she had a time trying to put everything into some semblance of order. My lovely beta, thank you for your hard work! I so appreciate you!__


	17. Growing Pains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if despair had a name and liked to eat your nightmares for breakfast? The Avengers are out on a routine mission when despair comes calling, and it sets its sight on our favorite genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. As the team rallies to rescue their friend, they are brought face to face with the fact that they don’t really know Tony at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll... it's the last chapter can you believe it?! I want to take a moment and thank everyone for sticking with me on this journey. I'm so grateful for all your encouragement and support! Also, shout out to my awesome beta for working overtime! She's simply the best. 
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys this last installment of Shadow of Despair. This is the first multichapter fanfiction that I've ever published and it was so stressful and exciting and hair pulling and amazing in a challenging but fulfilling way. It gave me the audacity to try again. Another Avengers fic centered around Tony but spanning out over years instead of focusing on one mission. It's still in the middle stages, but I'm hoping one day I'll be able to share that one with you all as well. 
> 
> Until then I hope you will check out some of my other works! Several of them have already been ported over from fanfiction.net and I'm working on getting the rest moved over. But if you'd like to check out the full list my username on fanfiction.net is xlenaleex
> 
> And without further ado, the finale!

_"...but we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, endurance produces character, and character produces hope."_

_\- Paul, Romans 5:3-5_

* * *

Rhodes held his breath as Dr. Sial went to get the rest of the gang, glancing at Pepper who had one of Tony's hands firmly clasped in hers.

It'd been a week of hell.

He'd arrived at the hospital a few short hours after Pepper, and he had not been happy at the state of his best friend. After Tony had finally fallen asleep, Pepper had turned on the Avengers, demanding an explanation of what happened. Apparently her scathing response had been enough to keep the normally unruly lot relatively subdued and out of the way. Which was good, because Rhodes didn't know what he'd have done if they'd kept trying to barge their way in during Tony's recovery.

Thanks to her thorough interrogation, Pepper had managed to fill him in on the worst of it before he arrived. Still, hearing about it and seeing it were two completely different things.

Tony was a mess. Too pale, too thin, and horribly confused. For the first day, nearly every time he woke up he slipped immediately into a terror. It hurt something deep inside him to hear those screams, but he bore it. He would have born more if he could have, if it would have given his friend even an ounce of relief.

Instead he and Pepper were relegated to offering anything they could. Talking to him the best that they could. Telling him over and over again that they were alive, that he was safe, that the world still turned, that everything would be okay.

They refused to move from his side. Still, he had to be constantly sedated. While he slept Rhodey made mindlessly small talk, bringing up as many happy memories as he could think of in the process. Pepper crawled into the bed next to him, often running her fingers through his hair in a soothing motion, hoping the contact would offer some comfort. And for several days, this is how they survived.

Maybe it was that their efforts paid off, or maybe it was that famous and incredible Stark resilience. Probably a combination of both. But, by the fourth day the restraints came off and Tony could have a conversation (though they did most of the talking) and even sit up. The terrors tapered off into severe panic attacks, but the screaming stopped and Rhodey was very grateful for that. Happy had arrived then, and after getting cleared by the doctor to see him had promptly gone into mother hen mode, though Rhodey had had to tell him to get in line.

By the sixth day Tony had smiled again for the first time. Not a cover smile, meant to comfort the people worried about him, but a real one, given simply because he was happy. That's the moment when Rhodey knew he was going to be okay. Eventually.

By the seventh day they'd begun to reintroduce Tony to the Avengers on a one-on-one basis for short periods of time. Rhodey and Pepper had been there each time to monitor the conversations. They had no idea how much Tony remembered about what had happened and made sure the others knew that there would be no talk about the incident as a precautionary tactic. So far, Tony had reacted well, normal even, except for that one mild panic attack after seeing Rogers.

Tony had been in outpatient recovery for ten days when the doctor declared him nearly fit for release. His ribs were healing well and the bloody, flaking scabs that used to reside all over his face were just beginning to lighten back to Tony's normal color.

He knew that it was time, but Rhodes couldn't help wanting to hide his friend away. How many times did Tony have to risk his life for them before it was enough? Before it took him away for good? The question haunted him in the dead of night, the odds continually growing _out_ of Tony's favor.

"Relax platypus," Tony's rasp came from the bed. "I'm not sharing this bed if you give yourself a hernia."

The joke made him chuckle and pulled him back from dark thoughts.

"Actually," Tony continued, "On second thought–"

His quip was cut off by Dr. Sial returning with the Avengers in tow, just in time for Tony to miss Rhodey's massive eye roll.

Yeah, his friend was definitely back.

* * *

Steve had never felt so wretched in his life.

During their ordeal and in the immediate aftermath there'd been too much going on for him to deal with everything that he'd seen. But, after they'd been restricted from seeing Tony for a week he'd suddenly had more than enough time to actually think about and process everything he'd experienced, or rather everything that Tony had experienced.

He had been so wrong about Howard. Even now, sometimes he almost couldn't believe it. But then the images of Howard spitting in Tony's face would assault him like a slap in the face–or Howard sneering at Tony, screaming about how he was worthless, or Howard nearly beating Tony to death in a drunken rage.

Steve didn't recognize the man from Tony's memories. Howard had never been that angry and unstable when Steve had known him. He didn't understand what could have happened to change the man so much.

"People change, Steve," Natasha had told him solemnly when he went looking for some answers to help him reconcile the two versions of the man.

"Yea but… that drastically?" he persisted.

"How have you changed, since Bucky died?" she fired back at him, and Steve's gut clenched at the truth of it. He _had_ changed. How could he not? He was often so lost in this new world, he always felt one step behind. Sure he wore confidence like a second skin, but the truth was that he questioned everything he did now. The surety he'd once had was gone.

"Life, and loss, changes people," she reiterated. "I'm sure the alcohol addiction didn't help either. Is it that hard to believe that his world was just as shaken as yours when you died? It's easier than you think to project your own insecurities onto someone else, and like most children, Tony made an easy target."

Her words painted a sorry story and suddenly Steve could see how it happened, slowly, over time, the alcohol lowering what had been excellent control until the occasional violent releases of emotion became the norm.

"Of course, that doesn't exempt him from being an abusive asshole, anymore than it exempts you from being a judgmental dick."

The words made him flinch, mostly because they were true. He had been a judgmental dick. Just thinking of how he'd hung Howard over Tony's head, nearly parroting the exact words that Howard had said in order to degrade the man, that Tony was always to blame and could never measure up to his expectations. Had he really said that Tony was worth less than other people he knew?

"You're not the only one with actions to atone for," Natasha's hand on his shoulder pulled his attention back to the conversation. "We were all pretty shitty to him. We've been given the rare chance to fix our mistakes. Let's not screw it up the second go round."

Steve had taken her words to heart. He was determined to show Tony how sorry he was for everything he'd put him through. He would start by admitting that he was wrong about Howard and go from there. He wasn't sure Tony would ever be up for talking about everything that he had gone through, especially all the horrific times he'd been assaulted or kidnapped, but Steve would make sure he was there when Tony was ready.

There was also the murder of Tony's mother to address. When they'd released all of SHIELD's files to the public, both Steve and Natasha had discovered the truth about the older Stark's death. He'd promised Natasha that he would tell Tony, and had been fully prepared to do that when he'd learned that Bucky was still alive, a fact which complicated things. Steve had thought that he'd been protecting Tony from a hard truth. He couldn't have known that Tony had blamed himself for the accident.

It was clear now that he couldn't hold the secret back any longer. He had to tell Tony. Maybe once he was fully recovered they could sit down and have a long talk, about Steve's past this time. He deserved that much.

Standing outside Tony's room, Steve tried to calm the anxiety and guilt eating at him. It had been a near constant during the last week or so, but seemed to skyrocket whenever they were allowed to talk to Tony. Now that they'd gotten the go ahead to converse with him for more than a few minutes at a time, he found the guilt and shame nearly overwhelming.

Then the doors were opening, his second chance starting whether he was ready or not.

* * *

Standing outside the door Natasha was more than ready to see Tony. She perhaps more than any of the others had first hand knowledge of just how close they'd come to losing him. She'd come to in FitzSimmons lab to shouts of Simmons demanding that they go again. It hadn't taken long to figure out what was happening.

It had been hell to lay there, unable to assist, forced to listen to them try again and again to bring him back with no results. Had the use of her bites made things worse, or better? Could she have done something different? Would leaving him in the suit have been safer? Perhaps it had been equipped with a defibrillator. Had she killed him in her rush to get him as far away from that _thing_ as possible?

Jemma's shout of triumph nearly had her out of the bed, eyes straining to see around the others for a visual. The sudden loud beeping that indicated that Tony's heart was indeed beating had felt like music to her ears. She'd drifted off to the feeling of an IV being inserted, counting the beats on his monitor.

Her recovery had been fairly simple. Her left patella was merely bruised, and her right one sported two fractures that were quickly repaired with surgery. She'd be out of commission for about two months while the bones healed but was released from the SHIELD medical facility the same day Tony had been transferred.

No stranger to crutches, she got around without too much difficulty, and had been there when they'd stormed the new facility to demand answers. Tony's unstable state hadn't surprised her, though it had drawn out the same fierce need to protect him she'd experienced in the chamber. She was ready to throw herself between him and the monster once more, and she found it frustrating that there was nothing she could do.

Well, not nothing. She'd cornered Clint and tried to figure out what had happened after she'd gotten out, mostly why he hadn't been right behind her. What she had learned made her blood run cold while also making a twisted sort of sense. How woefully appropriate that the cold metal box that he'd found comfort in as a toddler was still a comfort to him decades later.

For a brief time she wondered if the men who'd taken him as a baby were still alive. She'd even entertained the idea of hunting them down, until she realized that Howard was quite obviously not a forgiving man and had most likely already destroyed any trace of them from the face of the Earth.

Too bad. Bringing them to justice would have been a great outlet.

She'd also spent her time watching everyone else closely, getting a feel on their thoughts about what had happened. Steve was of course the most potential problem. Bruce was perhaps more of a friend to Tony than all of them combined. The fact that he'd known Tony had epilepsy spoke volumes to how much Tony trusted him. Natasha hadn't even known that, and it was her _job_ to know those sorts of things. Out of all of them, Bruce had the least to atone for. Clint, was also a nonissue. He and Tony had never been close, but they'd shared a friendly rivalry for the role of who was the better jokester. Tony's past hit close to home for him, and she knew that would change the way Clint saw the billionaire from here onward. Now that he knew better, he was prone to be a great deal kinder in the future.

Natasha herself was also painfully aware of how wrong she'd been about Tony. Everything in her was screaming to make it right, and that's what she was going to do. Steve, on the other hand, might be an issue. Much of the pain and degradation Tony had experienced at the hands and words of Howard had been inappropriately tied to Captain America. Tony had been primed to idolize Steve for more than half of his life, so it had to have been a severe blow when he finally got to meet the man only to have all of his father's rhetoric about how he fell short be echoed from the idol himself.

She'd been relieved when Steve had come to her of his own free will and used a parallel she knew he'd be able to connect with to get her point across. She really hoped he got it too. She would hate to have to kick his ass for putting his foot in his mouth.

* * *

Bruce found himself impatient as they made their way slowly to Tony's room. He'd waited patiently all week for Tony to come back to himself. It was probably a good thing since every time he thought about what those sick bastards had done to a _three year old_ he wanted to break something.

He'd seen the strange scars on the engineer's chest and legs once when Tony dragged him to a sauna. When asked, Tony told him they were birthmarks and that was the end of it. He hadn't put the pieces together then. How could he? Who would have ever guessed? Now he could match each scar to the memory of every strike of the snake.

He told himself that it was futile focusing on things he couldn't change, so he forced himself to focus on the things that he could. That meant examining his own relationship with Tony and addressing the areas where he'd gone wrong. It hurt to realize that he might be a trigger for even more nightmares, that he'd even had a cameo in some of the most despairing dreams that Tony had.

He deserved it though, that much was painfully true. Tony had always believed in him, even when Bruce didn't believe in himself. In fact, from the moment the two of them had met on that helicarrier, Tony had placed so much faith in him that Bruce hadn't known what to do with it. No one had told him that he could control it before. No one had ever looked at the Hulk and saw something that could _save_ people instead of killing them. No one had been so unafraid of him, had pushed him to become something greater. No one but Tony. And what had he gotten for all his effort and unfailing support?

Doubt. Abandonment. Passive dismissal.

Bruce had doubted Tony, just like he'd doubted himself. Tony had always had his back, and when he needed it the most Bruce had failed to have his. He hadn't been able to see it then, too in a panic at the destruction their creation was wreaking, then too high strung at being forced to work with Maximoff. Too angry and terrified about what may happen the next time she decided to play with his mind.

He could see it now, though. Had seen very clearly how his words and actions had cut at Tony, who was already bleeding at the loss of JARVIS. Every time he thought about it he wanted to kick himself for being so blind. Now he felt impatient because he couldn't wait to apologize. He'd still be hiding in the rainforest, miserable and alone if not for him. He needed Tony to know how much he valued him.

Tony deserved so much better, so Bruce would be better.

* * *

Clint felt more anticipation than anxiety about seeing Tony again. He had been wholly unprepared to learn about and _experience_ Tony's past in such high definition. But the experience had changed the way he saw Tony on a core level. In the handful of days they'd been banned from seeing Tony, he realized that he'd known absolutely _nothing_ about the real Tony Stark.

Before, he couldn't see much that tied them together except a love of pranks and witty banter. Now, he realized that there were so many layers to Tony that they had all completely missed. He'd been a fool to think that just because a person was rich that meant they didn't understand how the real world worked. That they had no struggles, no pain that mattered, and everything had just been handed to them. He'd always just assumed that. But now he knew that Tony was intimately familiar with the 'real world', and it had not been kind to him.

Trapped between an abusive, but powerful, father and the public eye, Tony hadn't been able to run from his problems like Clint and his brother had. Instead the man had been beaten, coerced, and abused into complying with other people's demands for his entire life. Clint had always thought that Tony's privilege and fame made him ego-driven and selfish. Now he could see how the fame had boxed the genius in and forced him to hide behind a mask to survive.

Despite all of his misconceptions, perhaps the most eye opening realization was the fact he wasn't even a major player and had still managed to cut Tony deeply. He couldn't even fathom how strong Tony's mental and emotional fortitude had to be to take so many insults and slights that hit so close to home from people he considered friends. As if he just expected it. As if being cut in the same place over and over until you become numb to the sting was normal.

Clint was putting down the knife.

He couldn't help but feel like Tony was the little brother he never had. One that he and Barney had abandoned to their abusive dad when they ran away. There was so much to make up for, so much that he wanted to show Tony. Most of all though he wanted to make Tony laugh, really laugh, not the humor he put on for the media. From what he could see, the man had never gotten enough of it in his life, and from what he could tell, his banter with Tony was one of the few times when Tony could enjoy honest mirth.

Afterall, what could be better after a nightmare than the release offered by a laugh.

* * *

Tony's attempt at making Rhodey squirm was cut short when the door to his room opened and the Avengers walked through. He had a smile already on his face from ribbing Rhodey, and it rose higher at their entrance, before slowly falling as he got a good look at their faces.

"Wow. You all look terrible. Who died?" he asked, only half joking. He was terrified he'd missed something big.

"You did," The reply came from Rhodey with a very motherly reprimanding tone that Tony found amusing and equally relieving. If it was just him, then he figured nothing too bad could have happened.

"Hey. Are you okay? How are you doing?" Bruce asked, almost rushing into the room and beating Rhodey's mother vibe by a mile.

"Same as the last time you saw me, Brucey. I'm fine. Honestly, a few nightmares aren't going to take me down," he offered with a well practiced, dismissive smile.

There was a distinct quietness after that statement that sent Tony's hairs standing straight on end. But before he could ask about it, Natasha spoke.

"Those are looking better," she said, indicating the healing scars on his face. If they continued on this track they may fade completely. She really hoped they faded completely. "You're not scratching them are you?"

Right. His lovely doctor had told him that they'd seen him lose it a few times. Shit. Not exactly the image of him he wanted reverberating in their minds. He opened his mouth to make a snarky comment, but Pepper beat him to it.

"Why do you think I'm holding his hand," she drawled, patting him softly on the arm.

"Hey. I've been a good boy," he mocked with a pout.

"I didn't say it was the _only_ reason," she tossed back with an affectionate smirk.

Dear God he loved this woman.

"Tony, it's good to see you feeling better. After everything that's happened… well, we were really worried about you."

The solemnity from Rogers was enough to undue Pepper's work and throw him back into a nervous panic, as a sense of wrongness twisted in his gut. Cap wasn't acting like his normal self. Where was the anger at not following an order? Or the classic disappointment for getting captured and having to be rescued? There was no mockery in that statement, no accusations or placating.

Tony was back to wondering just the hell had happened to make Rogers say that when Clint spoke up.

"He was worried. I had complete faith in you."

The joke was so unexpected Tony huffed out a laugh before he could stop himself, bringing his free hand to his chest at the slight twinge. Still, he couldn't help but grin at the archer at such a well timed delivery.

"Sure you did Katniss," he retorted, the anxiety dying down again. "Hey! I thought we agreed on curry once this was all said and done. I feel like someone told me we were in Kolkata."

"So we are," Bruce said, noticing the blatant subject change and running with it. He was paying more attention now. "And so we did. Butter chicken was it?"

"Two orders of cheese naan for me," Clint chimed in from the chair next to the window where he had all but collapsed.

"Oh come on, Clint. Butter chicken isn't even spicy. I promise not to make you try mine this time." Nat turned to smirk at him before turning back to Bruce with a smile. "Chicken Chittenad for me please."

"Uh… I'm not really sure what's good," Steve murmured with one hand on his hip and one on his neck. "I'll have whatever Tony's having. The butter chicken was it?"

"There ya go Cap," Tony praised with a grin. "Live a little. You won't regret it I promise."

Steve's soft nod of acceptance was slightly concerning, but Tony tried not to let it phase him. He could tell that something was off with the group, but he couldn't put his finger on it. When Clint railed Bruce for knowing the number by heart, he decided to let it drop for now. He'd had a really shitty few weeks and what he wanted to do most was forget the whole thing.

The memory of a project he'd been funding that he recently termed B.A.R.F. trickled into his mind, and he made a note to look further into it when he got back. For now, he would enjoy the rare moment of being able to have dinner with friends.

* * *

It took Natasha and Clint exactly two seconds of watching Tony's face after Steve's greeting to realize that Tony had no idea they'd been able to see all of his worst memories. It was in the set and slight hunch of his shoulders, and the panic in too wide eyes. Clint had been faster than her on the save, and she was grateful to him.

During their brief initial visits, they hadn't had time to say more than, "hi how are you," and fill him in on their own health status before they were being ushered out. She wasn't sure if Bruce and Steve noticed, however, so after leaving Tony to get some rest she'd pulled them aside, grateful when Clint followed. Now she didn't have to repeat this twice.

"Tony doesn't know about us seeing his memories," she started, getting straight to business.

"Wait what?" Steve asked, confused. "I thought they said the amnesia was temporary. We were in his mind, how can he not know?"

"I figured as much," Bruce sighed, rubbing his forehead. "If he'd known that meeting would have gone much differently."

"It's not amnesia. We were in a part of his mind that he couldn't access, remember?" Natasha explained to Steve. "It's like being on the wrong side of a two-way mirror. We could see in, but he couldn't see us."

"So now there's the question of if we tell him," Clint chimed in.

"Of course we tell him!" Steve starts, but then tries to picture how that conversation would go and pulls up short.

"I'm… not sure." Bruce looked pained as if the decision physically hurt him.

"We have to," Steve continued after a moment. "It's the right thing to do."

"Is it?" Clint asked, looking between him and Bruce. He already knew what Natasha would say. "Did you see the look on his face when you said you were worried about him? He looked two seconds away from a panic attack. Just from someone sincerely worrying about him. What do you think would happen if we told him we'd seen every horrible thing that had ever happened to him? That we're all privy to his deepest darkest secrets? Hell, how would _you_ feel if it was your memories that we'd tumbled through?"

That pulled everyone up short as they all experienced a moment of trying very hard not to vomit.

"It sits wrong with me," Natasha began, echoing everyone's thoughts. "But it sits wrong with me more if we tell him and he can't recover from the shock. Our thoughts and memories are the only truly hidden place we have. Something that is solely ours and no one else's. We each get to choose the people we share that space with. If we tell him, we take that from him. There will be nowhere he feels safe again. No refuge."

Her words sat heavily on every mind as each one tried to put themselves in Tony's shoes. Would they want to know? Or would it be better to believe a lie?

"So, we don't tell him." Steve said, feeling guilty to be a little relieved.

"No. Not yet anyway," Bruce cut in, suddenly looking up at them with fierce eyes before continuing. "I agree that telling him now, right after the fact, could risk more harm than good. But we _do_ have to tell him."

"Bruce– ." Natasha started.

"No. Tony…Tony believes in me. He's always believed in me, that I could be more, that I was strong enough to handle it. And you know what? He was right, but only because I had him beside me, supporting me the entire way. It's my turn to believe in him. Yes, he had some truly awful things happen to him, but even without us he'd been dealing with it. No he didn't always get it right the first time, but look at him? He's doing it. He's still getting up everyday and facing life. He's been able to overcome every obstacle thrown at him. I choose to believe that he'll be able to handle this one too."

There's a moment of quiet after his speech where the others processed his words. It was a good compromise and gave them time to address the serious issue of Tony's emotional stability, while also giving them a limit on the necessary withholding of truth.

"When do we tell him?" Steve asked.

"I don't think there can be a set time," Bruce stated. "People process trauma at different speeds, but I don't think it can be years from now. That would be too long."

"How about a time frame then?" Natasha suggested, "A date where we can start feeling him out and then a firm end date for letting the cat out of the bag."

"Okay." Bruce nodded. "Six months. That's when we'll start feeling him out. That gives enough time for him to see that we don't think less of him because of what we saw. We definitely tell him before the year is up."

"Fair enough," Clint agreed.

"Okay," Steve said softly, and then more sure, "Okay."

Natasha just smiled and tilted her head.

Decision made they all departed for their own destinations, each one acutely aware that they'll only have six months to apologize to Tony with their actions before they'll have to use their words.

* * *

Tony's back at the Tower and feeling much more comfortable than the rehab facility they'd had him in. While he'd love for Pepper to continue to dote on him all day, he understands that her short notice leave of nearly two weeks has left her ridiculously behind. Plus, he finds it kind of hot when she tries to work and eat dinner and her hair starts falling out of the neat bun she put it in that morning, heels sliding off her feet, fork only making it to her mouth half the time and the other half landing squarely on her cheek.

He's been working on his cooking skills while she's gone, wanting her to have something better than take out, but also not wanting to put her in the hospital because he didn't cook the chicken long enough.

Clint entering the kitchen nearly makes him jump. For some unknown reason the group had decided to hang around the Tower instead of heading back to the compound. Tony isn't complaining, but he occasionally finds it startling when they pop up in places he hadn't been expecting them.

"Hey Leggy. Feeling peckish?"

"That depends," Clint says grabbing an apple from the fridge before coming to peak over his shoulder. "What's on the menu?"

"Mac'N'Cheese Bake," Tony says, opening the cream of chicken and dumping it into the half filled bowl. Had he cooked the pasta long enough?

"Did you cook the macaroni long enough?" Clint seems to echo his thoughts and Tony frowns down at his work.

"It said seven minutes," he murmurs. He'd even put on a timer. "And apparently they're called 'elbows'. Did you know that? Took me forever to find them at the store."

"Mhmm," Clint comments noncommittally. "Your cheese is burning."

"Shit," Tony curses, dropping the spoon he'd been using to empty the can of soup and racing to the stove where his cheese was _boiling_. He's pretty sure that isn't supposed to happen.

"Keep at it Tony. You have an uncanny ability for salvaging broken things."

By the time Tony processes the words and looks back in surprise, Clint is already gone. He runs the words through his head again looking for the sarcasm that should have been there but wasn't. Had Clint actually given him a compliment? It's strange to say the least, but he shakes it off as he tries to separate the burnt cheese from the good cheese.

* * *

"Tony, this is amazing," Bruce breathes in genuine awe as he looks over the suit Tony is building for some kid named Peter. He's asked him to double check that the chemical compounds are all compatible as he's crammed quite a lot into a very small space, but Bruce is well aware that he is more than capable of that task. Tony's real reason for bringing Bruce in is revealed with the next statement.

"I don't know I feel like I'm missing something."

"Tony, the thing comes with it's own personal assistant. I don't think you missed anything." Bruce drawls.

"Are you sure? I mean think about it. I'm going to be putting a child in this. It has to be equipped with anything he needs."

Instead of flippantly placating him as he would have before, Bruce takes Tony's question seriously and looks through the various programs and safety measures laid before him. He's only halfway through the list when Tony nudges him.

"So?" Tony asks, as if he'd had enough time to look through it all and give an honest answer.

"Give me a second," Bruce smiles going back to his review. He can see the surprise on Tony's face in his peripheral.

Only once he's skimmed through the entire list, and then took a moment to think about what he'd might want if it were his kid in this suit, does he give Tony an answer.

"It's good." he declares, having come up with nothing Tony hasn't already thought of.

"Yea?" Tony grins, the smile making the extra effort Bruce put forth so worth it.

"Yea."

* * *

Natasha hears the crash and is out of bed and armed within seconds. Slipping out of her door she makes her way cautiously to the kitchen, anxiety dropping when she hears Tony cursing, only to spike back up when she finds him sprawled across the kitchen floor.

"What the- Tony what happened?" she breathes, setting the gun down and bending down to help him sit up in the middle of a floor filled with ice.

"Sorry," Tony apologizes, holding his ribs and giving a pained smile. "Wasn't expecting that bin to be so heavy."

"Don't apologize," Natasha whispers, clearing ice out of the way with her foot so she can get to him without falling herself. She can tell that he's confused by her demand and plows on to distract him. "What in the world did you need an entire bin of ice for anyway?"

"It's a...a secret," he deflects, a little too embarrassed to tell her that he was using it for a child level science experiment because he was still restricted from using all the more fun tools and was quickly growing bored.

"Okay," She agrees without prying further as she puts a hand around his back and helps him to his feet. "Next time just come and wake me if you need help. It doesn't matter if I'm asleep okay?" She doesn't miss his startled face and the step back he takes. She can see the fear and doubt flash in his eyes, even as he attempts to hide it, and she tries not to let it break her heart, that a person offering him help should make him so wary.

"What am I in the Twilight Zone," he tries to joke looking for familiar ground. "Did you just invite me to your bed?"

"I'm serious, Tony," she pushes forward, ignoring his innuendo. "If you're not comfortable getting me I understand that, but Clint, Steve, or Bruce are equally willing to help."

She notices his breathing pick up a little and he turns away.

"Okay. I'm definitely sleepwalking," he murmurs. "Clearly I need more sleep."

"Tony," she stops him with a soft touch on his shoulder. "I'm sorry if I…" she stops then trying to figure out how to say what she wants without startling him further and coming up short. "Be careful going back," she settles on. He looks at her like she's grown a second head before giving a shaky nod and stumbling back towards the hallway.

She's about 98% sure he's going to pretend as if he dreamed the entire thing when he wakes up tomorrow. She's only just turned around to begin cleaning up the rest of the ice when his returning form pulls her back.

He stops in front of her, breath coming a little too fast and eyes downcast. There is a long moment of silence where she can see him deciding whether or not to speak and she waits patiently without pushing him.

"FRIDAY says you tried to help me… down in the base," he starts before stopping to swallow. "She says you threw yourself between me and the creature."

"Yes," she answers him simply, watching his eyes shoot up to hers in surprise and so much confusion.

"Why?"

It's the second time in just a few minutes that she feels like her heart is breaking, because she knows that he's thinking he isn't worthy of such an action.

"Because that's what friends do, Tony."

She can tell her words amaze him; can see how he's always thought of them as his friends, despite how they used to treat him, but is surprised to learn that they think of him as a friend as well. She's barely able to make out his whisper of thanks before he's fleeing out of the kitchen and down the hall once more.

She is undeterred as she goes back to cleaning. She will try again tomorrow and every day after that if that's what it takes to show this man that he is valued and cared for and worthy of affection.

* * *

"Hey," Steve greeted coming into the large living room to see Tony with devices spread across the couch. "What are you working on?"

Tony hesitated as Steve took a seat, near him but far enough away so as not to disturb his make-shift workspace.

"Uh…" he stalled trying to decide whether to tell the truth. Steve was historically not a fan of AI's, and Tony really wasn't in the mood for another pointless lecture about how he was somehow contributing to everything wrong with people nowadays, but he couldn't think of a better lie in the moment. "Updating FRIDAY."

It wasn't a lie. He _was_ updating FRIDAY, to be peripherally connected to the brand spanking new AI that Tony was nearly finished with and was planning to upload in the spider kid's suit this weekend.

"Oh," Steve commented and Tony braced for the reprimand. "What's that, your second one now?" he questioned. Actually, it was more like his fifth, but he wasn't about to tell Steve that.

"Something like that," he settled on.

"You really are a genius."

Tony dropped the tablet he'd been holding and then scrambled to catch it before it hit the floor. "I'm sorry, what?" He asked after he'd failed and the device clattered to the ground, heart in his throat. Once again his ears were playing tricks on him because that had sounded sincere.

"You're a genius, Tony." Steve said again. "The things you can do with tech... I'm honestly amazed. I know I… said some things in the past, but the truth is Howard would be proud of you. You're a great guy and the stuff you make is just...incredible."

Tony was pretty sure the world had stopped. Or maybe it was him who'd stopped? This wasn't happening. Something was wrong.

"Tony?" Steve asked with worry and suddenly it was too much. He jumped up from the couch and ignoring the doctors orders ran from the room and straight for his lab, ignoring the confused calls from Steve.

He nearly tripped over Bruce and sent them sprawling down the last few steps just in front of his lab.

"Whoa, whoa! Tony what's going on?"

"Somethings wrong with Steve," he breathed. "And Natasha and Clint too. They're all, they're all…" he couldn't find a good explanation. Simply saying that they were being nice to him sounded like he was a madman.

"Slow down, Tony," Bruce said, grounding him with two hands on his arms. "What happened?"

"Rogers just said that I was a genius. That my father would be _proud_ of me."

"Okay..." Bruce started slowly though he understood quite clearly now what was happening. "That, admittedly is a little strange."

"Okay right?!" Tony breathed sounding relieved. "So what are you thinking? Invasion of the body snatchers?"

Bruce decided to respond in the way that his mind was screaming to, though it probably was only going to startle Tony more. He pulled him in for a hug. He felt the man tense up at once and only squeezed a little tighter.

"Not letting go anytime soon unless you make me, Tony so you might as well get used to it."

There were a long few moments filled with questions and huffs and a surprising amount of innuendos before Tony got quiet. It didn't escape Bruce's notice however, that he never once tried to pull away.

"Tony," he began, choosing his words carefully. "Sometimes things happen that put your life in a different perspective. You coding on that table was one of those times. You're going to have to get used to the fact that we all care about you. I know we've been shamefully slow on the uptake, but bottom line, we love you."

He pulled back a little then, trying to see if any of that had gotten through. The watery shine in Tony's eyes seemed to indicate that it had.

"Yea?" Tony tried to quip, mocking their previous conversation, though the waver in his throat gave him away.

Bruce reached up then and gently took hold of both sides of his face so he could look him in the eye, watching as the fleeting shadow of despair finally left Tony's eyes to stream down his face and crash onto the floor.

"Yea."

Hope was a strangely beautiful thing to see in someone else's eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


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